Knot Your Fingers Through Mine
by monroeslittle
Summary: AU. Peeta and Katniss and the American Civil War.
1. Chapter 1

_a/n: I said I wouldn't be able to write for a few days, but I was so excited for this story I've spent time that should be spent elsewhere on this. oh, well. This is a historical AU, and I'm sure it'll have historical inaccuracies, but I've tried my best with the time and the resources I have. I apologise in advance to any Civil War fanatics. The current outline is ten chapters, but I'm pretty terrible about predicting how many words a scene I planned will take to write, so that may change._

* * *

><p>This is the day he will finally ask.<p>

He repeats that to himself. This is it. He smoothes his hair back as he takes another long look in the mirror. He looks as presentable as he possibly can, hands and face clean, hair brushed, a fresh shirt and vest on. If his mother could see him, she would tell him to put on a walking suit before he went out, or at least a frock coat, because she doesn't need the entire town to call her son a hayseed.

But he knows that Katniss doesn't like ostentatious displays, that she will feel easier around him if he isn't dressed up to the nines. She doesn't care for that balderdash, and he likes that she doesn't.

This is it. He nods at himself in the mirror. He murmurs his prepared speech. He can do it.

He hurries down the stairs and heads straight for the door, but he hesitates when he sees his frock coat and his hat. Maybe he _should_ wear them. He doesn't want to make her think he doesn't have a sense of propriety, or that he doesn't make enough money to afford a coat let alone to support her.

"Wear the coat," Rue says, popping her head out from the kitchen. "It makes you look handsome."

He nods. "Yes. But my frock, not my overcoat or my walking suit." But he hesitates, waiting until she nods agreement to that, too. She does. "Yes. The frock." He pulls it on, and he puts on his hat.

He looks over at Rue, and she smiles. "Perfect."

It isn't a short walk from town to the outskirts where she lives, but he doesn't mind. It lets him take a few more minutes to prepare himself. He needs to do this right. The road becomes muddier as the streets slowly start to narrow, and the houses become crowded together, their walls darkening with coal dust. And it's louder, too, with the shouts from children scattered in the alleys, running under clotheslines, giggling, playing ball. He tips his hat at one little girl, and her dark cheeks turn pink.

No one seems to think him suspicious, thankfully, even this far from town; it likely wouldn't have been like that only a few months ago, but the prospect that Virginia might join the secession makes people assume he is around to talk politics with someone, perhaps deliver a message, make plans.

Her house is further down, among the better houses in the Seam, with a front porch and a sparse, brown yard where a skinny goat is kept penned in. He knows her grandfather bought the land and built the house himself, passing it down to her father, and he knows it is a point of pride for her.

He can feel himself sweating through his shirt, but he can blame the sticky April afternoon for that.

He wipes his face on his handkerchief, though, before he steps up onto the porch. The door is open, but the screen door is closed, and he takes off his hat, knocks on the door frame with a shaky hand, and nervously shifts from foot to foot as he waits. He swallows thickly. This is it. Finally.

This is the day he will ask Katniss Everdeen to marry him. This is it.

And she is suddenly walking towards him, stealing his breath, her hair neatly pinned up, circled by a braid, hunting boots she shouldn't wear peaking out from under her dress, her sleeves rolled up, her hands pink from washing. Her face is purposefully blank when she appears, but she almost seems to brighten a little when she recognises him. "Mr. Mellark," she greets. "Good afternoon."

She stops, staying behind the screen door. He nods. "Good afternoon, Miss Everdeen." He turns his hat a little in his hands, his palms shamefully sweaty. She stares _right_ at him, but this is it.

He just needs to ask. He practised this, didn't he? He can do it.

"I, um, I —" He can't manage to spit it out. He needs to tell her that he has always admired her beauty and her strength, that he knows she deserves to be courted like a lady and that he would be honoured to court her should she want, but already his own feelings compel him to ask if she —

"Mr. Mellark, is something the matter?" she asks, frowning a little.

He stares at her. Just spit it out. Just say it. Her beauty and her strength, start with that. Just say it.

The country is fractured, war a painfully possible prospect, yet his knees buckle at this small task. He reprimands himself, tries to force himself to stay calm, for he need have only a little courage.

"I came to call on you today," he starts bravely, "because I — I need a little blue mass." And he looks at his shoes, fingers curling into the brim of his hat. He just couldn't do it. He just couldn't.

He is not a brave man, not at all.

"Of course," she says, voice relaxed. "For your mother?"

He nods. "Yes, ma'am. I know I ask for it a lot, but her head continually plagues her —"

"I understand, Mr. Mellark," she says, voice warm enough that he dares to look at her. "No need to be troubled about it. As long as you can pay, my mother keeps plenty to sell. I'll be just a moment."

She disappears back into the house. "Yes, I can pay," he mutters pathetically to himself. "That's all I can do. Pay for pills my mother doesn't need." He pulls out his change purse. He should've worn his walking suit. It would've made him more courageous. He sighs, annoyed at himself.

Maybe he can still —

"Here you are, Mr. Mellark." She pushes open the screen door, and she holds out a small little bottle. His hand shakes a little as he takes it from her and his fingers brush hers, but it only lasts an instant, and he drops a dime into her open palm. "Thank you, sir." She offers him a small smile.

He nods, telling himself to take this last chance, but she is already turning away, the screen door closing. He puts his hat on, pocketing the pills. "And thank you, Miss Everdeen." She nods, and he starts down the steps, is off the porch, crossing the yard, when he just manages to do it.

"Miss Everdeen," he says, and she looks back at him. "I also — may I say that you — you look particularly pretty today." There. That's something, at least. He is almost afraid to see her reaction.

"Thank you, Mr. Mellark," she murmurs, and he wishes he could read her expression better.

He turns on his heel and hurries towards the street. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea. And why did he say _today_ when she looks particularly pretty everyday? She probably thinks him pompous.

He doesn't understand how she does that to him. He isn't like this with anyone else; he can easily charm Delly Cartwright until she all but cries through her laughter, and he certainly doesn't act like a chump with the girls his mother presses him to court. But Katniss Everdeen _looks_ at him, and he can't remember how to breathe properly, let alone tell her he is madly, hopelessly in love with her.

The moment he walks in the bakery back door, Rue smiles eagerly at him. "What did she say?"

"I didn't ask," he confesses, stripping off his coat and his hat. Rue hangs them for him, and he can hear his brother and his sister-in-law Lorie in the kitchen, probably annoyed that he disappeared for no reason in the middle of the afternoon. "I just couldn't. She would've laughed in my face, Rue."

"No," Rue says, "no, sir, I don't believe that. Just wait. The next time you try, when you do ask."

"No," he says, shaking his hand. "I shall never be able to ask. Never."

"You _shall_," she insists. "This was only your twel — thirt — fourteenth try, sir. You shall. Soon."

He snorts, petulant. "Only my fourteenth time. That's just hunky dory, Rue." He starts towards the kitchen, knowing she can't continue the conversation when they're in the kitchen, his family able to listen in. As much as he loves them, he just can't talk to his family about Katniss. He only really trusts Rue with that talk; his family likely wouldn't approve, or at least his awful mother wouldn't.

That wouldn't matter if Katniss agreed to marry him; he would ignore anything his mother might feel the need to say, and he would marry her regardless. But why bother to handle all the nasty comments his mother will toss at him before he even works up the courage to _talk_ to her properly?

Bannock doesn't ask where Peeta was; he only tells him a fresh cake is ready to be iced. Peeta nods, and he pulls off his vest, tosses it over a chair, and rolls up his sleeves. Bannock runs the bakery these days, now that their father can't do much more than sit up in bed, but Peeta works under him, helps with the cakes mostly, because he doesn't have any other work to do, and Bannock pays him enough money that Peeta can both support Rue and buy countless pills.

He knows his mother wants him to do what his brother Rye did, wants him to find a pretty girl from a respectable family that doesn't have a son, so that Peeta can _become_ that son, apprenticing to his father-in-law and taking over the business. His mother actually cried when Rye married Edith.

His terrible old mother, always on the make, nevermind what her sons want.

But Peeta isn't interested in any such girls. Only Katniss, always Katniss.

And that means, of course, that he'll end up a bachelor his entire life, that loony old fellow that makes the cakes, mutters unsaid speeches to himself, and buys pain pills like they're sweets.

The afternoon passes far too slowly, his hands busy with the cakes as he tasks his mind to think about anything but Katniss. At dinner, he listens to his mother complain about the charity function the church hosted that afternoon, how this lady did that wrong and that lady did this wrong, and he finally escapes with his usual excuse that he needs to meet with a few friends for drinks.

It is a lie, but Peeta reasons that ends justify the means, God forgive him.

No one tries to stop him, not anymore. This is his accepted habit after the last month.

Thresh lets him in the back door, and they take the stairs to the second floor, where George, Benjy, and Charlie all wait. They hail him with nods, and Thresh fixes a drink for him. The moment Peeta takes a seat, Charlie leans forward in his. "The telegram came in last night," he tells them, voice low, "and it'll be in the papers tomorrow. This is it, boys. This is the day that shall make history."

He stops for a moment, and Peeta is tense, worried. "What is it?" George asks.

"Lincoln called for soldiers," Charlie reveals.

No. Peeta shakes his head. "He wouldn't do that."

"He did," Charlie says, expression grim. "And the whole world finds out the moment they read the papers tomorrow. Lincoln wants us to provide seventy-five _thousand_ troops to end the secession."

"It means war," Benjy murmurs. "They won't come back without a fight. It means war."

"I do not believe Lincoln wants a war," Peeta insists. "I _will_ not believe it."

"So what does he want with seventy-five thousand troops, Peeta?" George asks, frustration brimming, his moustache twitching as he holds his scotch with white knuckles. "He wants a war."

Peeta only continues to shake his head.

"Look, the only way war might not happen is if we _do_ send troops to Lincoln," Charlie says. "If we side with Lincoln, with the Union, if we refuse to secede, it might diffuse the situation. As long as we don't secede, Arkansas shan't, nor Tennessee, nor Kansas. They shall surely do as we do."

"South Carolina won't come back without a fight," Benjy insists. "No matter what we do."

"But it won't be a bloody fight if they don't have Virginia to back them," Charlie replies, and Benjy doesn't argue that. "If Virginia stays with the Union, we can end this war before it really starts."

"Except what Virginian will agree to stay with Lincoln after this?" Peeta asks.

"The crux of the matter, that," Charlie says, and he leans back in his seat, pulling out a cigar.

"Lincoln doesn't deserve for us to stay," Benjy replies coldly, "not after calling for troops."

"But the Union still does," Peeta says. "And if not even you can remember that, Ben, how many other Virginians will?" Benjy doesn't respond, his eyes on his scotch. Peeta shakes his head at him.

"It must be our job to remind them," Charlie finally says. "The next few weeks will be crucial. If the convention decides to abandon Lincoln and votes to secede, the secession must still be ratified. We are free men in Virginia, and it is we who determine our fate. We can vote _not_ to ratify it."

They talk a little more, discussing ways to keep support for the Union strong. They can have the most impact with the small, local paper that Charlie prints with his uncle, and Peeta readily agrees to write an unsigned editorial that warns against secession. Benjy is beloved among the socialites, and he can find ways to disparage secession without too much ado, and George, the only coal miner in their small party, can make certain the miners understand the situation for what it really, truly is.

As Peeta walks home, though, he feels hopeless despite it all.

At best, they can only influence their own small town. Virginia itself must make the final decision, and Peeta can easily imagine how many men are like Benjy, so easily turned against their president.

He wants to talk about it with someone else, and perhaps he will with Rue.

But what would Katniss think? He imagines that with her pride in her home, she possesses pride for Virginia as well. Is she among the proud Virginians who believe their fate lies as leaders in the Union, or is she among those who believe they would do best to defend their institutions alongside those who wish to defend the same institutions? He would do anything to know her mind.

He is a dope without _any_ grit, however, unable even to speak a single coherent sentence to her, and he knows any thoughts she might have on the possible secession will never be shared with him.

He doesn't sleep much that night. He writes a little, starts a rough draft for the editorial. The word secession denies the truth, he writes. This is a revolution against their home, a revolution against the Union the founding fathers created, a revolution against the liberties they intended to protect.

It betrays the founding fathers; it would be a complete calamity to dissolve the Union they created.

He likes that. He'll print that. He wonders if Katniss would like it. And he shakes his head at himself.

* * *

><p>The convention passes the articles to secede, just as Charlie predicted. It is up to the Virginians themselves to choose whether or not to ratify it. Peeta finishes his editorial, and Charlie prints it that night. It is widely read, Peeta knows; he hides a smile every time he hears it mentioned.<p>

He can barely manage to hide his smile, though, when he catches Miss Prim excitedly reading aloud a passage to tall, wiry Rory Hawthorne.

They're both in the bakery the very pnext morning to trade cheese for a few loaves, and he can't resist. It isn't wise to ask outright what a person thinks on the matter, but sweet little Primrose Everdeen isn't about to start a fight. "Heard you reading that editorial, Miss Prim," he says, wrapping up the three raisin loaves for which she traded. "What'd you think?" He keeps his voice carefully light.

Her eyes brighten. "I agree with it completely, Mr. Mellark! Completely! My sister says —"

"Aw, come on, Miss Prim," Hawthorne interrupts, teasing, "the only reason you agree is because Miss Everdeen does, and you think she knows everything." He shakes his head fondly at her.

"I don't think she knows _everything_," Prim argues. She looks at Mr. Mellark. "But you've met my sister, Mr. Mellark! You know how smart she is! And _she_ says for Virginia to secede would be every bit the calamity that editorial says." She nods her head firmly, and Hawthorne simply smiles, obviously among the two dozen boys who would do anything to court pretty, precious Primrose.

Peeta only smiles, too, holding out the bread.

Katniss liked the editorial. She stands with the Union. It makes him want to attempt another proposal.

But the time for proposals has passed, hasn't it?

A call from the town militia for volunteers is sent out only days later, and brawls break out across town. Peeta himself tears Rye off Arthur Wood, a thin man with whom Rye attended school. Rye shouts that Arthur isn't a Virginian if he would so easily turn his back on its liberties.

It isn't until later, at the bakery, that Peeta learns Rye means its liberties as a commonwealth that intends to defend their peculiar institution, a commonwealth that intends to join the Confederacy. Peeta can't find the words to reply to his brother. He doesn't let himself ask what Bannock thinks.

It is Bannock who shakes Peeta awake three days later. "Troops are on their way," he says, voice low and urgent, and Peeta blinks sleepily, unsure what his brother means. "Peeta, the Union army is on its way _here_. They went to secure the town. All able-bodied men are called to help defend it."

"No," Peeta says, scrambling to sit up. "No. The vote to ratify secession —"

"It doesn't matter," Bannock says. "No one cares. Look out the window, Peeta. That smoke? They're fighting in the streets, those who want to arm against the Union and those who want to welcome them with open arms. So what side are we on, Peeta? What do you want to do?"

Peeta blinks at Bannock, his quiet, introverted brother, always letting Rye and Peeta outshine him.

"Lock the doors," Peeta finally breathes. "That's what we do. We lock the doors, and we pretend we're not here, and we wait out the night. That's what we do." He runs a hand through his hair. "If they've started to fight in the streets, it doesn't matter who is right or who is wrong. It doesn't. And we don't need to be involved in a bloodbath." He stares at his brother, and Bannock only nods.

He wakes Rue, quickly explains, and asks her to cover all the windows.

They lock all the doors with help from Lorie, their parents still asleep, and they stay silent, all the candles snuffed. Peeta retrieves the revolver his father keeps under a floorboard in the pantry, and he waits on a stool by the door. Lorie finds stale soda biscuits for them to eat. They can smell smoke within an hour; angry, drunken shouts echo down the street within two, but otherwise the night passes easily, quietly. It is almost too silent as sunlight just peaks through slits in the curtains.

Whatever happened, the fourth street shops, their small bakery among them, escaped the worst it.

As soon as he hears the birds start to sing, he unbolts the door. He keeps the revolver in hand, and he steps out onto the street. He spots Greasy Sae first, pushing her soup cart. The doors to the blacksmith are open. He sees Janice Snyder looking anxiously out her window across the street.

He starts towards Sae. She smiles a gummy smile. He doesn't even have to ask.

"Mr. Lee sent troops," she explains, "and they pushed back the Union 'fore our militia could."

He nods, and she continues. "The battle didn't even come into town; stayed out by the river, it did, little ways north from the mines. But them Confederate soldiers are all around town this morning, more just pouring in by the dozen, whipping any fellows they suspect have Union sensibilities."

"So we're for the Confederacy now, are we?" he asks.

Sae chuckles. "If that's what the troops stationed all around want to hear, that's what I'll tell 'em."

If anyone can survive a war, it is old Greasy Sae.

"I suspect everyone'll be out soon enough," she adds, "going about their business like all's well."

"A fresh bowl for my first fresh loaf?" he asks, and she nods, smiling. He heads back to the bakery to tell Bannock and Lorie. And, like Sae predicted, it doesn't take long for people to venture out onto the street, opening shops, making trades, acting like nothing changed. He explains to his mother what happened as if he had slept soundly through the night, too. She doesn't question it.

It isn't even noon when Peeta spies Confederate soldiers out on the street.

He keeps his head down as he delivers bread to Sae, and she winks at him as hands him cold pea soup. He doesn't know how long the soldiers might stick around, but he knows they can't possibly have enough whips to keep the peace for too long, and the town will trade hands at some point.

He finally finds a chance to sneak away from the bakery for half an hour a little past three.

He passes main street, and he pretends not to hear the sound leather makes when it smacks skin.

It looks worse as he walks from town; he sees shattered glass sprinkled on the street, bullet holes pepper a bookstore, and more Confederate soldiers hover as he reaches the Seam. He starts to walk with a limp, and they mostly ignore him. A small man with beady eyes does stop him, though.

"Just on my way to see my girl," Peeta answers, voice hard. "Them damn Yankees better not have touched her, or I'll give 'em worse than I did last night." He narrows his eyes at absolutely nothing.

The soldier nods. "They're all mashers, those Yanks," he says, and he spits on the ground. "But long as we're around, you don't gotta worry about your girl." Peeta asks him if anyone waits for him at home, and he is treated to a picture. Another five minutes, and he learns that the troops are spreading across Virginia to make sure the Union can't swoop in the moment secession is ratified.

He finally escapes, a little the wiser for it. It looks like nobody doubts that Virginia plans to secede.

He can't remember the last time he came to see Katniss and found the door closed, but he isn't surprised. He knocks. No one answers. It could be that they only mean to be careful, to do what he did all last night, but it could also mean something is the matter. He coughs as loudly as he can.

If he sounds sick —

The door just barely opens. He lifts his hand up, a cautious hello.

"Mr. Mellark," Katniss says, sighing as she swings open the door. She isn't harmed. "I should've known you'd be by after last night. Something for your mother?" He nods, grateful that she so easily makes the excuse for him. She turns away, only to pause. She holds open the screen door.

"Why don't you wait inside?" she asks, eyes scanning the street over his shoulder.

Her house is dark, the windows all tightly shut, but he doesn't really care, not when she stands so close to him as she bolts the door shut. "Just a moment," she murmurs, as she always does, and she disappears down a narrow hall, leaving him in the small foyer. He spins his hat in his hands.

He spies an old musket around the corner, sitting innocently on the stairs.

He shouldn't worry about Katniss. She can take care of herself.

Moments after he thinks it, someone exclaims his name. "Mr. Mellark!" And Miss Prim hurries down the stairs. "I'm so happy to see you! I've been so worried about everyone in town! Mother left to help the injured just after sunrise, and she sent word through my dear friend Abigail that the Hawthornes were well — you've met Rory Hawthorne, haven't you? — but I haven't heard from anyone in town, and Katniss threatened to lock me in the pantry if I tried to step foot outside!"

"And the threat still stands," Katniss says, reappearing, pills in hand.

"I can't speak for everyone in town," Peeta tells Prim, "but my family is well, as is everyone who lives along fourth street, including the Undersees." Prim nods, her relief evident, and Peeta realises that Katniss looks relieved, too, as he pays her for the pills. "I should also say — just to make you aware, of course, I do not mean to make any assumptions — that Confederate soldiers are everywhere, and they've started to whip anyone they suspect might sympathise with the Union."

Katniss nods, and he just barely catches her eyes flicker to the hidden musket.

He doesn't want to leave, but he doesn't have a reason to stay, and he heads out.

He remembers to limp on the walk back. He feels a little better about the day now, assured that the Everdeens are perfectly fine, but Rue meets him in the backyard behind the bakery the moment he returns. "A man is here to see you, sir," she says, her voice small, her eyes wide and worried, "a Confederate. He won't say what he wants, but his uniform — he looks like he might be a general."

His stomach clenches. "Stay outside," he tells her. He walks in, and he finds Lorie making tea for the plump man who sits at the kitchen table. They don't usually let guests into their small kitchen; customers are only welcome in the front, and visitors are taken upstairs to their small parlor.

"Ah, finally!" the man exclaims, "is this the youngest Mr. Mellark?"

"Peeta Mellark, sir," he introduces, holding out his hand, and the man shakes it with fat, sweaty fingers, but he doesn't offer his own name. Peeta tries not to stare at the uniform that belongs to a general. The man is older, too, with badly combed white hair and a thick, unkempt white beard.

The general looks at Lorie. "A minute alone, my dear lady?" he asks, smiling.

Lorie nods, looks nervously at Peeta, and scampers out to the front.

"Have a seat, Mr. Mellark, I insist." He nods at the chair across from his. Peeta is almost glad to sit, his legs turned stiff under him. "I had a talk with an awful fellow just earlier. A right blowhard, no common sense, no idea what to say and what to keep himself." He pauses to sip his tea. "Ah, yes. That's it. My compliments to your lovely sister. Are you married yourself, Mr. Mellark?"

"No, sir," Peeta says.

"Attached to anyone?"

"No, sir," Peeta says.

"Excellent!" And the man smiles widely, making Peeta want to grit his own teeth. He keeps his face smooth, unaffected, but he still can't decide what angle to take with this strange man.

"Anyway, Mr. Evans certainly won't say much more, I'm sure, until his back patches up. I swear, they almost tore all the skin clean off!" He chuckles a little. "He should've kept quiet, old Charlie Evans." He smiles at Peeta, as if waiting for him to agree, and Peeta can barely manage to nod.

"We had a talk beforehand, though, and I told him how _delighted_ I was with his little paper. It really speaks to the Southern mind. And I told him, I did, how much I enjoyed a _particular _piece written a few weeks ago, an unsigned editorial against secession. I asked if I could credit it to him."

There. That's why the man is here. To take Peeta to that same whipping pole. Peeta bites his cheek.

"Under the impression that we were of the same sympathies," the man continues, "he revealed to me that he had not the eloquence to write such a stirring piece, but it was his friend. Peeta Mellark."

Peeta wants to be mad at Charlie, too stupid to shut up for his own good, too stupid to protect his own friends. But Charlie always means well, and Peeta can't stay angry with a whipped, beaten man.

"I wouldn't call myself eloquent," Peeta finally replies.

The man chuckles. "I certainly would, rest assured. That editorial, well, it turned quite a few heads, Mr. Mellark." He leans forward in his seat, and he lowers his voice. "And, just between you and me, I wouldn't mind if you managed to turn a few more; in fact, I'd very much like to help you."

Peeta stares at him.

"If you'd like, you can simply ignore my offer," the man continues. "I already made sure Mr. Evans is blamed for the editorial. But if you really meant those words —" He stops, and he waits.

"I meant them," Peeta finally murmurs. He won't be ashamed, whipping pole or not.

The man looks delighted. "Excellent. Just excellent! I work with some big bugs, Mr. Mellark, and we can always use help with more _delicate_ matters. It would be dangerous; this is, after all, a war, but I have a train ticket for you, should you choose to help us end all this atrocious business."

"I mean no disrespect, sir," Peeta replies, "but you still haven't exactly told me what it is you want me to do, where your loyalties lie, or even what your own name is." His hands are fists in his lap.

"Oh, dear, I can be terribly rude, can't I?" the man says. "I shall explain everything, Mr. Mellark, in time, but I cannot be so bold until I am sure that you are to be trusted. I am happy, however, to share a little about myself. I am a proud South Carolinian, General Plutarch Edward Heavensbee."

* * *

><p>Peeta doesn't even blink when the little boy runs down the street, screaming out the news sent from Richmond by telegram. Virginia has ratified the articles on secession, has joined the Confederacy.<p>

He makes his own announcement at dinner that night.

"I've decided to join the war effort," he says.

It takes a moment for anyone to respond. "Which side?" Lorie finally asks.

"The Confederacy, of course," his mother snaps, "you stupid girl." She looks tersely at Peeta, and he sighs, offering Lorie a small, apologetic smile as he nods. "Yes," his mother says, pleased. "I couldn't stand to see my own son fight against our state." Her pleasure doesn't last long. "But you'd shame the Confederacy," she continues. "I'd have a telegram within a week to tell me you died."

"Mother," Bannock says, almost a protest.

"What?" his mother exclaims. "And you think he _can_ fight in a war? Heh! It is generous to claim he would last even a week. No. You aren't about to fight, Peeta. You aren't a soldier." She stabs her chicken leg, unapologetic, and he stares at her for a moment, trying his best not to despise her.

"It isn't up to you, Mother," he says. "I've already signed up. I won't join the local militia, or the troops stationed in town. I spoke with a general who passed through last week, and I'm to join his forces in two days time, no matter what your opinion is. The train ticket is already purchased."

The entire table stares at him.

"Fine," his mother hisses at last, "if you managed to fool some poor Southern general, fine." She points her fork at him. "But _you_ will have to tell your pitiful father that you intend to kill yourself."

That's it. That's this discussion.

After dinner, Peeta does tell his father, who looks pained at the news, but who sits up in bed to shake Peeta by the hand, and he makes Peeta promise to write as often as he possibly can. Peeta needs to tell Rye, too, but he knows his brother won't try to stop him; Rye already joined the militia last week. The only person left who might try to dissuade him is —

"I'll come with you," Rue announces the next morning, face set.

"No," he says, adamant. "You can't."

"I _can_," she says. "It isn't uncommon for soldiers to take servants along to fight with them. I asked my aunt Seeder. And I want to come with you, sir. I want to fight by your side." But he refuses to listen to her arguments; he ignores her all day, ignores her continued insistence that she _must _come.

She corners him the next afternoon, though.

"And what _shall_ I do, sir?" she finally demands. "If you leave, I can't stay at the bakery."

He blinks at her, surprised. He hadn't though about that. But she is right; he doesn't even try to argue the point. He knows she can't possibly stay with his mother. "It will be hard to find work as a freedwoman," Rue says, "especially with tensions so high. But if I accompany you —"

"No," he says, shaking his head, "with me you are in too much danger."

He can see on her face how much she wants to shout at him, but she is too loyal to argue too much; instead she bites her tongue, just waiting, he knows, for him to realise that it would be best for her to come with him, to fight with him, to put her life in danger as he plans to do. No. It won't happen.

"I can pay for you to board somewhere in the North," he says, "if we can find a train that will take you. If not —" He stops, sighing, because she is shaking her head with blazing, emphatic eyes.

"I'm not about to let you pay for me to hide away somewhere with money that you're earning as you risk you life," she says, her shoulders squared defiantly. "Sir," she adds, an afterthought.

It makes him laugh despite himself. "What if I pay for you to work?" he asks, a new idea springing to mind. "You'll still earn every penny." He can see her trying to decipher what his new plan is.

"But I wouldn't be with you," she says, and he nods. "What work would I do?" She is suspicious.

He smiles. This is a brilliant idea, his best ever. "You would look after Katniss Everdeen."

* * *

><p>He knocks on the door, and he glances back at Rue, who somehow looks ever smaller as she waits nervously at the edge of the yard. "Mr. Mellark?" Katniss says, and his face snaps back to the door, back to her, looking slightly concerned, her hand on the screen door, ready to push it open.<p>

"Miss Everdeen," he says. "My apologies for the late hour, but my train leaves early tomorrow, and I needed to speak with you before I left." He doesn't wait for her to reply. He is about to say more to her than he ever has in his life, and he can't let himself back down. "I am to join the war effort, but I need to find work for Rue before I do, to assure that she will be fed and housed while I am away, and I am here to ask if you might be so generous as to open your own home to her."

He swallows thickly, prepared lines delivered, and her face is unreadable as she stares at him.

"It is uncouth for to me ask something like this," he adds, "but I am without any other choice."

"Mr. Mellark," she finally murmurs, "you want me to look after your slave while you fight?"

"No!" he says, "oh, no! Rue isn't my slave. No, ma'am. I apologise. I should have explained, but I forget that so few know. I bought Rue her freedom from my parents several years back. I pay her wages from my own pocket now. She is a freedwoman." He smiles, but Katniss doesn't respond.

"And I would continue to pay her wages while I am away," he continues quickly, "but I fear that my mother would — would mistreat her, and I would prefer she stay elsewhere. I would pay for her to board among other young ladies, but Rue will not allow me to pay her if she does not work. Thus I hoped you might perhaps allow her to earn her wages working here. I will still pay those wages, of course, and I will pay for you to house her as well, if it would not be too much trouble."

He reminds himself to breathe.

"Mr. Mellark," Katniss starts, "I really am not sure. . . ."

He closes his eyes for a moment, and he steps a little closer, lowering his voice. "This does cause you trouble, I know, and I truly do not wish to put you out like this, but I don't know where else I might turn. She is — Rue is _family_ to me, as much as my brothers are. She is a sister to me, and she is just a _child_, Miss Everdeen. She cannot be on her own. But if I were to leave her with my mother — there is a reason so few people know Rue is freed. My mother still hasn't forgiven my father for agreeing to sell me Rue with the knowledge that I would free her, and I —"

He forces himself to stop his desperate ramble, and he looks imploringly at a silent Katniss. She is the only person who he imagines might understand, her own young sister so dear to her heart.

"She is a sister to you," Katniss says, hesitant. "She is not —" She stops, eyebrows raised.

It takes him a moment. "No!" he cries, completely flabbergasted. "Not at all! No, ma'am," he sputters, "I assure you that I am _not_ — I would _never_ — she is only a child — I am a gentleman — the sanctity of marriage — and my Christian heart belongs to — she is not — I would _never_ —"

Katniss lifts her hand, biting her lip, eyes amused. "I understand, Mr. Mellark. I understand."

His face flushed, he nods. "If it would not be too bold, may I just — your own sweet sister, dear Miss Prim. Think how you adore her. That is my adoration for Rue. I need her to be looked after."

Katniss seems to consider him for a long moment, before suddenly she looks past him to Rue.

He looks over his shoulder and nods at Rue, who slowly approaches, nervously smoothing her skirts. "Ma'am," she murmurs, curtsying and carefully looking at the porch rather than at Katniss.

Katniss pushes open the screen door, coming out onto the porch.

"All I can offer is a cot in the kitchen," she tells Rue, "and we'd need to put it away during the day, but if you don't mind helping clean and cook game or tending to the garden, or helping my mother and my sister with their midwifery, you're more than welcome to earn you wage here, Miss Rue."

Rue nods. "That would be quite agreeable, thank you, ma'am."

"Also, I shall need you to look at me," Katniss says.

Rue looks, and Katniss smiles softly, making Peeta clench his hat tightly in his hands. Her smile is so sweet, so rare. Rue smiles back hesitantly. "I'll return tomorrow with my things, shall I?" she asks. "After I see off Mr. Mellark? I don't have much. I shall not be any imposition, ma'am."

"I know you shan't," Katniss says. "Tomorrow it is." Rue nods, looking happily at Peeta, and Katniss looks at him as well. "Are you to fight for the Confederacy?" she asks, her expression guarded once more, and he wonders if Katniss is now among those secretly loyal to the Union.

He sincerely hopes she is, but he cannot explain that, cannot explain his situation, although he does not wish to lie, either. "I am to fight, yes, ma'am," he replies, "what my God and my country ask of me, I cannot deny." There. It is not wholly a lie. "I shall send wages for Rue by letter," he adds.

Katniss nods. "Very well."

He stares for a moment, realising that this is the last moment he might ever see her. He cannot imagine what the war will bring, but the chances that he will ever return home are small. A thousand pretty words come to his tongue, but he only puts his hat on, and he smiles at her.

As he turns to leave with Rue, however, Katniss stops them. "Just a moment," she says.

She disappears into the house. He looks at Rue, who asks what Peeta said to Katniss to convince her to allow Rue to stay with her, to work for her. "I only told her how hard you worked," he replies, and Rue shakes her head at him. He smiles, admittedly guilty, and she laughs, eyes bright.

As hard as it seems to say goodbye to Katniss —

He already cannot begin to imagine a final goodbye to Rue. It will come tomorrow, however, will come far too soon. But if she is safe with anyone, it is with Katniss; still, perhaps he will ask her to look after the ring from his grandmother, just in case it might help her to sell it at some point.

"I like her," Rue says suddenly. "And I can see why you do, too." Her smile turns mischievous. "I can't wait to help raise your children." She winks at him, and Katniss returns only moments later.

Katniss holds a small leather pouch out to him. "It isn't much," she says, "just smelling salts, a little moss to stem bleeding, blue mass, some mint leaves for hunger, and a few remedies for infection."

She doesn't look straight at him, but he lets his hand catch hers as he accepts the small gift. He curls his palm around her fingers, and he waits until she finally lifts her eyes to meets his. "Thank you, Miss Everdeen," he murmurs. She nods. He releases her hand.

He tips his hat. He doesn't intend to look back as he leaves, Rue at his side, but he can't help himself. Katniss stands in the doorway, her hand on the screen door, ready to disappear, but she doesn't yet; she watches them walk away instead. If only he had even been able to muster the courage, just once, to tell her how much she meant to him with all her beauty and all her strength.

He can only hope he finds the courage to fight this war before the train whisks him into it.

**tbc**

* * *

><p>an: First, I am from the South — from Virginia, in fact, proudly so — and I don't mean to insult anyone with this story, but it isn't kind to the Confederacy. I don't want to offend anyone, and the "evil" characters, while Confederates, will also be characters created by Suzanne Collins.

Second, I imagine Peeta and Katniss live in what becomes West Virginia, which was the stage for vicious guerilla warfare and not much else, thus for the story I move them to actual Virginia, where major battles took place, including that which will eventually feature in the story. More on that in the next chapter, however, which will be up within a week, fingers crossed. And if you have any questions about any of the historical stuff, or any terms, or anything like that, just ask!

Third, this story will actually alternate POVs, and that means a few chapters will be heavily centered on Katniss or on Peeta at certain points. I apologise for the sad lack of Katniss in this chapter, but she is the undisputed star of the next chapter, so stay tuned. :)


	2. Chapter 2

a/n: to respond to an anon review from "Emma" — Heavensbee, his loyalties, and what else he told Peeta after the scene ended were meant to be unexplained in the last chapter, because I can't exactly reveal everything right at the start! I'm afraid this chapter won't explain, but, according to my tentative outline, the fifth chapter will, so you'll just have to stay tuned :)

* * *

><p>"I don't mean to bellyache, Katniss, but I can't stand to stay in this house <em>one<em> more day!"

Katniss doesn't reply, but Prim heaves another sigh, a whine in the sound. Katniss sits back on her heels, pulling out her handkerchief to pat the sweat on her face as she tips her hat back a little to look at her little sister, currently sprawled on the back porch steps, her skirts hiked up innocently, her blonde curls seemingly everywhere, her straw hat covering her face and muffling her voice.

"As long as you're in this house," Katniss tells her, "you're safe."

"That isn't true, you know," Prim replies, sitting up and catching her hat in her hands. "Mrs. Evans said that two Union soldiers broke into her house and stole her wedding china to sell for food. She wasn't safe even her own home." She looks at Katniss with large eyes, still so very much a child.

A war has raged for two terrible years, yet Prim is still so innocent.

It breaks her heart to look at Prim lately, to see her thinner face, a daily reminder that, for the first time since their father died, Katniss can't keep her own sister well fed, to see in that thin face how very trapped her sister feels. And she _does_ hate that Prim is cooped up, but the house is still safest.

"If Mrs. Evans turns up dead in her living room," Katniss replies, "caught in crossfire between soldiers, we can have another conversation about how a house isn't any safer than out in the street."

Prim sighs and collapses dramatically back on the porch steps. "I wish I were a cat," she declares.

Katniss picks up her sheers and continues to prune the little garden. It isn't even June yet, but the summer heat is unbearable, and the little herb garden she keeps has already started to suffer for it.

"If I were a cat," Prim continues, "I could do whatever I wanted, just like Buttercup."

"Buttercup will surely kill himself before this war ends," Katniss replies.

"Oh, that's horrible, Katniss!" Prim exclaims. "Who would hurt a poor little kitty?"

"I'm counting on a stray bullet, actually," Katniss mutters, and Prim doesn't hear, too busy reciting the poem she wrote about Buttercup yesterday. As much as Katniss loves her little sister, her poetry leaves something to be desired. But if Katniss didn't keep Prim locked in the house every day, perhaps she wouldn't be forced to endure poetry recitals. This is her punishment for that.

But she won't regret it. If Prim stays in the Seam, stays in their house, stays away from the constant warfare that her own foolish neighbors wage on the streets, she will survive this war.

And that matters more than anything else.

"I don't understand why you let Miss Rue walk into town for the post _every_ week," Prim says petulantly, apparently finished with her poem, "but I'm not even allowed to walk down the street."

Katniss heaves her own sigh, sitting back on her heels a second time to level her sister with another stern look. "I don't _let_ Miss Rue do anything," she replies. "She is an independent woman, free to make her own choices, free to risk her own life, and I'm grateful to her that she checks the post for us as well as for herself." And, Katniss adds silently, she can hardly deny Rue that small comfort.

She likes Rue.

The small girl is smart, sharper than she lets on, and quick and quiet, too. She can read better than Katniss can, and she is observant, always aware, always alert. Katniss respects that, and she simply _likes_ Rue, likes her soft giggle, likes the way Rue hums under her breath when she works, likes how well Rue can swallow the poetry, a chore in itself. Katniss easily understands why Mr. Mellark adored her as much as he did. She knows Rue adored Mr. Mellark, too, even if they never talk about him, never even allude to him. The first few months, Rue used to mention him often.

She would even read aloud the letters he wrote her, and she couldn't sing his praises enough.

His letters abruptly stopped, however, and Rue keeps his memory close to her heart now, too close to share with Katniss or Prim, who never really knew him. Katniss is more than happy not to talk about him, not when the thought that he died forgotten on a distant battlefield makes her feel sick.

All the horrors from the war seem endless, yet somehow the idea that this war cost sweet, honest Peeta Mellark his life seems the worst possible crime to Katniss. At the very thought, in fact, her sweaty hands tighten a little on the sheers, pressing the handle into the fresh blisters on her palm.

But Peeta Mellark is surely dead, and Katniss cannot afford to dwell on that.

"If she didn't," Prim says suddenly, "you would check the post instead, so you would risk _your_ life, and you _do_ risk your life to hunt. It doesn't seem very fair to me that you should be allowed to risk your life but not let me." She crosses her arms over her chest and tries her best to stare fiercely at Katniss. The expression needs as much work as her poetry, but Katniss tapers her own smile.

"I do not believe I ever said it was fair," Katniss replies.

She knows Prim is about to mention their mother; they've had this discussion countless times, and it always follows the same thread. Prim will claim that their mother risks her life every day to help their friends caught in the fighting that rages through town. "And I can help her!" Prim will insist.

But their mother barely sleeps and barely eats, is rarely home, is dying herself to help people, and Katniss respects her mother for it, but she isn't about to let Prim carelessly ignore her own life, too.

She is saved from the argument, however, when she hears voices in the house, and the back porch door opens before Prim can respond. Rue appears, two letters in her hand, and she holds one out to Prim, who squeals in delight, scrambling to her feet. As Prim tears open the envelope and sinks back onto the porch steps, all her attention on the letter, Katniss only shakes her head at her sister.

She prays every night that Rory Hawthorne survives this war simply to spare Prim the heartbreak.

Rue crosses the backyard to hand Katniss the other letter, the return address from Winchester.

"Madge," Katniss murmurs, smiling a little, and she thanks Rue. But she doesn't read it yet, not when she sees the person to whom Rue spoke in the house, his hulking frame blocking out the sun as he crosses the yard towards her. Another smile tugs on her lips; it is always a relief to see Gale.

He makes her absolutely _furious_,his pig sticker always by his side, a constant reminder that he is helping tear their town to pieces, yet she cannot help her momentary happiness when she sees that he is still alive, that he survived another month, another week, another day, another awful battle.

He holds out a hand to help her to her feet. "I came across him outside the post office," Rue says, and something is in her voice. Katniss suspects someone must've opened fire on the street, and Gale probably protected Rue. Katniss squeezes his hand a little, the best thank you she can manage.

She leads him into the house. He always looks so large in their small house, his frame too big for the doorways, his legs too long for the chairs, but she loves the sight, loves knowing that he is safe. If she could lock him up the way she does Prim, she wouldn't hesitant for even a heartbeat.

"The Yankees took Second Street," Gale says, and Katniss feels her relief start to fade. She doesn't respond as she pours him an iced tea. "They've started to dig trenches, if you can believe it. And they've forced every shop on the street to fly a Union flag." He shakes his head, clearly annoyed.

She can't help it. "Am I supposed to believe the Confederate sympathizers wouldn't do the same?" she asks. "Am I supposed to believe this town has been torn asunder by the Yankees alone?"

He stares at her, and she stares back. He sighs, looking at the table. She continues to stare at him.

"I don't want to fight with you," he murmurs. "It seems every time we talk it turns into a fight."

"I thought you liked to fight," she replies.

His jaw locks. "Look, the only reason I even brought it up is because I do not believe you're safe here. We've managed to protect the Seam from the Union, but they're more determined than ever to take the_ entire_ town, Katniss, and I cannot stand to imagine what would happen to you if they —"

"They've wanted to take the town since the day Virginia seceded," Katniss interrupts.

"And I've fought to protect the town from them," Gale replies, "to protect _you_ from them —"

"I am not an excuse for you to fight in this war," she snaps.

"I did not claim you were!" he exclaims, and he slams his fist on the table, frustrated.

She forces herself to breathe. "I don't see why we must continue to have this conversation," she finally says. "I feel the same as I have felt for the last two years, Gale. This war is _foolish_, and I will not pick sides among my own neighbors. I will not help turn my own town into a battlefield."

"The town already is a battlefield," Gale says. "And I'm fighting to protect it."

"Yes," Katniss replies, "because you clearly would protect the town better than John Raymond, despite the fact that my mother helped deliver you both, despite the fact that you live two houses down from each other, despite the fact that you attended the same schools, despite the fact that you both love this town. Yes, you need to shoot a musket at John Raymond to protect our home, because he supports the Union, and you support the Confederacy, and it is all so clear, isn't it?"

She nearly spits her last words, and her eyes flicker with fury to the musket he brought into her house, the musket leaning against her kitchen wall, the musket he uses to kill his oldest friends. Hers is to protect her house, but his is meant for so much worse. She hates the simple sight of it.

He doesn't reply, and her anger starts to settle uncomfortably in her stomach, a familiar weight.

"I am not afraid to see Yankee sympathizers control the town," she tells him. "At least if they did, if _someone_ did, the fighting would stop, no more trenches on Second Street, no more bodies abandoned in the meadow, no more blood stains on the streets where we used to play hopscotch."

His face starts to soften.

"And I wouldn't need fear to let my sister walk further outside than our backyard," she finishes.

"At some point," he whispers, "you _shall_ be forced to pick a side, Katniss. This war might be as foolish as you claim, but it is still a war. If you do not pick a side, you shall surely be caught in the crossfire." His expression implores her to understand. Her heart clenches, reminding her how much she hates that they argue, reminding her how they weren't always at such cross purposes.

"If I am forced to pick a side," she replies softly, "I do not think it will be yours."

"How can you not side with your own?" he asks, a whispered desperation in his voice.

"This war is not right," she replies.

"No, it isn't," he says, "because this war was begun by those who would deny us our rights."

She shakes her head. "No, this war was begun by wealthy men who wanted to keep their wealth."

It is quiet, and the house seems too hot, even with all the windows and doors open.

"I shall never convince you to leave this house, shall I?" he says, and it isn't really a question, even he knows that. He looks at her sadly. "My mother would welcome you with open arms, and you could sleep with Posy in the larger room." But Katniss only shakes her head at him, and he sighs heavily. "What if I were to tell you that Prim would be safest at my house, too?" he asks.

"I wouldn't believe you," Katniss replies, offering a small smile. "This is our home, Gale."

He nods, and he stands, reaching for his musket. The iced tea sits untouched on the kitchen counter. The backyard is silent, and Katniss knows Prim and Rue probably listened to the entire conversation through the kitchen window, but she can't be bothered to worry over it.

Gale hesitates. "Just tell me this isn't about Peeta Mellark," he says. She is speechless at the sudden question, and she can only blink at him. He sighs, and he continues, his voice sad and soft and sympathetic. "I talked with Lorie Mellark only last month, Katniss, and she admitted that even his own brother believes Mellark is dead. They haven't heard from him since last summer. He is dead."

"I hardly see how this is relevant," Katniss says, words sticking in her throat.

"It is relevant," Gale tells her, "if you refuse to leave this house, refuse to stay with my family, where you would certainly be safest, because you fear what he might think should he ever return."

She opens her mouth, trying to find some way to answer him. She doesn't want to talk about this.

"It would not matter what Peeta Mellark would think should he ever return. Why would it?"

He scoffs. "Katniss, we've been friends since we were children. If you expect me to believe that you were not romantically involved with Peeta Mellark, you unjustly injure our friendship."

"I was not — I _am_ not — I have never been — I barely even knew Mr. Mellark," she exclaims.

"Yes, so you've said, yet his slave lives with you," Gale says, "and —"

"I've told you before that Miss Rue is not his slave," Katniss breaks in, irritation starting to stir inside her, "and I'll be fit to be tied if you don't start to listen to even a single word I say, Gale Hawthorne. Miss Rue stays with me because Mr. Mellark _asked_ me to look after her, and I —"

"And why did he do that, Katniss?" Gale asks. "Why ask _you_ to look after her?"

"Because," she says.

"Because," he repeats, expectant, and Katniss feels her face flush.

"Because I — I owe him," she mumbles. "I owe him my life." She swallows thickly, and she can see that she managed to surprise Gale. But she doesn't want to explain; somehow, now that Peeta is most likely dead, the burnt bread that he once carefully tossed her after her father died, the hope that he once quietly offered her when she needed it most, seems a sacred secret, never to be shared.

"I thought you barely even knew him," Gale says, almost accusatory.

"Peeta Mellark is an honorable man," she says. "We were not friends. We were not romantically involved. But he was kind to me when were children, and before the war he often came by to buy pills for his ailing mother. He is an honorable man, and he asked me to help him. That is all."

"So if I were to ask you to marry me right now," Gale says, "you wouldn't refuse for his sake?"

She can't understand the way he stares at her, so intently, so fiercely; it makes her heart pound.

"I would refuse because I never intend to marry anyone," she murmurs, "you know that."

"Even if he were still alive, and he asked for your hand?" Gale challenges.

"I never intend to marry _anyone_," she insists. "I am not in this world to be a wife or a mother."

A small voice cuts in before Gale can respond. "He isn't dead, sir."

Gale looks to the porch door, to Rue, but Katniss looks at her hands. She can't look at Rue.

She shouldn't have talked like that about Peeta, shouldn't have made out that he was dead.

"Mr. Mellark isn't dead, Mr. Hawthorne," Rue repeats. "He simply hasn't been able to write. He is too involved the war, too important to the cause, and he hasn't been able to write. He is not dead."

"Yes, of course, Miss Rue," Gale says. "I apologize. I should not have said he was. It was rude and uncouth, and I apologize." No one says anything. Katniss finally turns to the iced tea, surely warm at this point, and she takes it out to Prim. She touches Rue gently on the arm as she passes.

Prim smiles a little and thanks Katniss for the tea as Katniss sits beside her. She opens her letter from Madge, always a treat. She doesn't acknowledge when Gale leaves without a farewell, and she pretends not to hear Rue murmur a prayer for Peeta under her breath as she starts to fix supper.

* * *

><p>Her conversation with Gale is still heavy in her mind when she takes her own musket and heads into the woods the next morning. She likes this early hour best, when the sun hasn't completely risen, and the spring air is still cool, dew on the grass. The town is quiet, all the soldiers asleep.<p>

The forest welcomes her, the sun sprinkling patterns on the ground as it trickles through the trees, and she takes a moment to roll her shoulders, to push aside her frustration with Gale so that she can focus on the hunt. She doesn't use her musket, of course; it would make too much noise. She finds the old bow her father made before he died, and she catches two squirrels within an hour.

The first time fighting broke out in the streets, it only lasted a few hours.

The night passed, the Confederacy claimed the town, and all was well. Rue came to live with Katniss a few weeks later, and life carried on. Katniss kept her family fed, she helped her mother sew bandages for the town militia, and she comforted a tearful Prim when Rory joined the militia.

She didn't expect any more fighting, not in their town.

The war was bigger than them, and those who wished to fight had already left.

But on a hot, balmy day in July, only two months after the war started, she heard a woman scream in terror a moment before bullets peppered the large estate house where Katniss had come to trade strawberries, and suddenly the street itself was at war. And it stayed that way all summer, and all fall, and all winter, and all the following year, until suddenly two bloody years had passed like that.

The moments when the fighting paused, when one side managed to claim the town, were few and far between, and they were always little comfort, because they usually meant soldiers from outside town had arrived to secure the town, and the outsiders were brutal, breaking into homes, stealing food, shooting at beer bottles for sport while little children squealed in terror only a few feet away.

Katniss was so happy when Gale didn't join the militia, when he didn't take a train from town to join the fight, but that happiness went up in smoke when he decided to join the war raging in town.

She shoots a third squirrel, but she isn't able to collect the kill, not before she hears voices.

A loud chorus, louder even than the footsteps that stomp through the forest, scaring any animals far away, alerting any enemies that soldiers, for they must surely be soldiers, are on their way. Katniss quickly scrambles up the nearest tree, losing her footing once in her hurry, but she makes it high into the branches, her bow over her shoulder, her squirrels abandoned on the ground.

The soldiers march right beneath her, an unruly ten dozen _at least_, all with familiar grey caps.

Confederates. She tries to breathe as little as she can, and they pass under her, thankfully oblivious.

Her skirts catch on a branch as she finally risks venturing back down, and bark scratches her thigh, drawing blood. She doesn't care. She picks up her squirrels, cleans her arrows and hides them away with her bow as quickly as she can, and she hurries home, taking the roads she spent works sorting out as the best roads to take better her house and the forest to avoid any notice whatsoever.

The Seam is untouched, Prim drawing at the kitchen table, Rue milking Lady on the back porch.

Katniss doesn't let them see any panic; soldiers in town aren't new, not at all.

And two days later those soldiers have taken the town, temporarily stalling the fight for control.

It isn't a reason to panic. They just need to wait the Confederates out.

It won't be long before the corps decides to pass through, to move onto a bigger, better battlefield, or before the Union sympathizers push them out. It never takes long, so they must simply wait. She doesn't let Prim outside, not even to the backyard, she convinces Rue not to fetch the post for just a little while, and she sleeps with her musket by her bed. They can survive this as they always do.

The first Monday in May, however, the sun set, the day finished, as Prim plays with Buttercup on the floor, Rue stirs stew over the stove, and Katniss finishes skinning the rabbit she caught that morning, someone pounds loudly on the door. Buttercup flies from the room. "Open up!" a man shouts, and Katniss nearly slices her thumb open, but she doesn't set down her knife. She sees Rue curl her hand into the pockets in her apron, where Katniss knows she keeps a knife from Peeta.

The pounding only continues louder. "I can smell dinner on the stove! Open up!"

Katniss starts cautiously down the hall, motioning for Prim to hide upstairs, but Prim can't do more than _start_ to stand before the front door violently slams open, hitting the wall so hard the small cross stitch hung over the kitchen table falls to the ground. Katniss can only stare at the two Confederate soldiers who stumble into her house, down the hall, and right into her silent kitchen.

They aren't from town; she would recognize them if they were.

Their faces are hidden behind dirt and tangled beards, their hair greasy beneath stained grey caps, their uniforms wrinkled, pulled from their trousers, as dirty as their faces. The younger, his eyes dark, starts across the kitchen, right towards the stew, but the older stops him with a hand, and he looks at Katniss. "Ma'am," he says, taking off his hat, "I apologize for our disrespect, but we are only two hungry soldiers, and we hoped you might show us your good Southern hospitality and let us eat at your table tonight." He keeps his head bowed politely as he talks.

"We don't have much," Katniss murmurs, "but of course you are welcome to join us."

The soldier smiles, introducing himself as Jonah and his companion as Peyton, and Katniss motions them to the backyard, to the water trough, for which she receives another grateful smile. She wonders how kind he would be if she tried to refuse. She quickly finishes skinning the rabbit, one eye on the soldiers, and Rue ladles rabbit stew out into two bowls the moment the soldiers are back inside, sitting at the table. Katniss take a seat with her own bowl, and Prim copies her motions, but Rue knows better than to eat with them tonight, or even to take a bowl for herself.

She stands in the corner, and no one speaks as the soldiers eat, spilling soup into their beards, obviously as starving as they claimed. Prim watches them carefully, her hands trembling a little as she tries and fails to eat her own stew. Katniss is afraid to breathe, but she doesn't let it show.

"What else do you have?" the younger soldier demands, mouth full.

Rue offers him the little meat left on the rabbit bones, and he takes the entire plate from her, eating it all. Prim starts to say something, but Katniss cuts her off with a sharp look. She can always catch another rabbit. The older soldier asks Katniss a few polite questions, and she answers quietly.

She wants to ask her own questions, but she bites her tongue. This isn't the place to take risks.

Her name is Katniss Everdeen, and this is her sister Primrose; they've lived in this house with their mother their entire life. And then Katniss doesn't blink when she lies. Prim does, but Katniss can only hope the soldiers don't notice the way Prim frowns when Katniss says her husband is in town, fighting the entrenched Unionists. "A fine man, I'm sure," the older soldier kindly tells her.

Katniss forces a tight smile.

They pray every night for the Confederacy to end this wretched war, she says, for them to cast the Union army from Virginia, words the soldiers want to hear. She finds the blackberries she picked earlier, and both soldiers devour the entire bowl. "What else?" the younger soldier demands.

"That's it," Katniss replies, stiff fingers stirring her untouched stew.

"That can't be it," he replies. "You're well fed." He stares at her, and his eyes flicker to Prim.

She reminds herself to breathe, but she is too late to stop her sister. "My goat Lady makes cheese," Prim tells them brightly. "I still have a little in the ice box, and I think we have a little stale bread to eat with it." She smiles as the older soldier politely nods and thanks her, and she hurries across the kitchen, Rue at her heels to help. The younger soldier watches Prim, his dark eyes trained intently on her the way they were trained on the food. Katniss forces herself to eat the stew in her own bowl.

Prim spreads the cheese on the stale bread, and the soldiers eat it as eagerly as everything else.

And, finally, the older moves to stand. "We thank you heartily for your generous hospitality, Mrs. Everdeen," he says, tipping his head before he puts on his hat, "and for yours as well, Miss Prim."

Prim smiles at him, offers a little curtsey, and the soldiers walk out.

The door stands, and Rue crumples against the wall, shoulders sagging. She crosses herself.

"We needn't have been scared, Katniss," Prim finally says, and Buttercup is already back by her feet. She pulls the cat into her lap, pressing a soft kiss to his head. "They seemed like kind men."

"Yes," Katniss says, "they _seemed_ like kind men."

She locks both the front door and the back door, staring out into the darkness for a moment before she pulls out the liquor her mother keeps for patients. Prim doesn't want any, but Rue accepts a sip.

Katniss finally understands what Gale meant.

If they were at his house, they wouldn't be safer from the fighting on the streets, but they would be safer from what happened tonight. She shouldn't have so stupidly ignored his pleas. But it isn't too late; as soon as tomorrow dawns, she will hurry to his house. She will see if his offer still stands.

She knows it does. She can always count on Gale.

She sends Prim to bed, and Rue pulls out her cot, and the house is silent. Katniss sits on the floor by the front door with her musket, and she stares through the window out into the empty street. The soldiers will be back. Even if they, by some miracle, missed spotting where Lady was tied up on the back porch, they know she exists now, thanks to an innocent Prim, and they'll want that goat.

They'll be back. Katniss wraps her hands tighter around her musket.

She wishes it weren't dark out, weren't too late to flee to Gale right at this moment. But she can wait out a single night by herself. And, well, as long as the soldiers simply come for the goat, fine.

She wakes up when Buttercup scratches her leg. Katniss blinks, disoriented, the musket sitting in her lap, her finger slack around it. She kicks Buttercup away. The house is quiet and dark, all the candles burned out. She must've fallen asleep, but she can't have slept long; it is still dark outside.

But Buttercup hisses, furious, eyes glowing in the dark, and Katniss hears a soft thud.

She stands, the musket in her hand, and quietly slips down the hallway. As she thought, the back door is open, softly smacking the doorframe with the wind. The soldiers. Katniss peaks out onto the porch. But Lady is untouched, asleep on the ground. The soldiers aren't anywhere in the yard.

Her heart jumps into her throat. The only other thing those soldiers could possibly want —

Buttercup hisses, and Katniss runs to the stairs, runs to Prim.

She hears a choked squeal as she reaches the second landing. She sprints to the bedroom, and she slams open the door, and someone grunts, and Prim screams, and someone is _on_ her, and Katniss slams the musket against his hulking frame, the butt to his head. He curses loudly, lunging around suddenly to knock Katniss off her feet. Prim screams louder, terrified, scrambling from the bed.

Katniss tries to reach for her musket, knocked from her hands, but the soldier has his hands around her neck, and she can't see more than his face dimly outlined in the dark, and Prim screams for Rue, for her mother, for help, and sharp, ridged fingernails dig into her neck, choking her as her hands scratches the ground, trying to reach the musket, so close, but his weight on her is too much.

A moment later he almost collapses against her, because Prim is on his back, scratching his face, screaming at him not to touch her sister. Katniss tries to knee him or to elbow him or to somehow hurt him, and her fingers just brush the musket, but she can't quite hold it, and he jabs her in the face with his elbow.

It steals her breath, and she can't see, is left dizzy and dazed on the ground. He lets out a loud, furious bellow, and Katniss can see Rue, knife glinting in her hand. Katniss tries to sit up, but the world spins under her, and her vision blackens for a moment, and hot blood is on her fingers, but she _finally_ grasps the musket, and she aims wildly, looking for him, finds him back on Prim —

She fires a clean shot to his head. A clean kill.

Prim whimpers under his motionless weight, Rue breathes heavily, and Katniss forces herself to her feet. The musket is molded into her hands. She thinks she might be sick. And she uses the musket butt to knock the man off Prim, who scrambles to her feet and presses her face against Katniss, crying, trembling, her nightgown torn. The man stares unseeingly at the ceiling, dead.

Rue touches her arm, and her small fingers slowly pull the musket from Katniss.

"Are you okay, Prim?" Katniss finally manages to ask, her voice a whisper.

"Yes," Prim sobs, and Katniss looks at Rue, who nods that she, too, is unhurt.

"But you're bleeding, Miss Everdeen," Rue tells her. "Your ear is hurt."

Katniss shakes away her concern. "We need to bury the body," she murmurs, looking at the soldier. "We need to hide any evidence that he was here, and we need to do it now." She slowly kneels, and she looks at Prim, cups her face. "Rue will help me bury the body, but I need you to clean this room, make it look like nothing at all happened. I need you to do this, Prim."

Prim nods, wiping her eyes. "I can. I will. I can do it, Katniss."

Katniss tears the top sheet off the bed. It is already stained with dirt and splattered with a little blood, and she refuses to look the young soldier in the face as she wraps him up, heaving his body onto his stomach so that she can properly hide him in the sheet and carefully tie it tightly closed.

She just killed this man, but she can't think about that yet. She needs to focus.

"Take his feet," she tells Rue, who doesn't hesitate.

He is heavy, and they struggle down the stairs, Buttercup watching with his bright yellow eyes.

They take him into the backyard. Katniss wishes she could take him to the forest, but it is too far. She chooses the square in the yard where she just planted a second herb garden, the dirt fresh. She sets the body down, and she starts to dig with her hands. Rue helps. Katniss stubbornly ignores the sting from sweat in her gashed ear, which buzzes softly, unnaturally. They finally dig enough.

It is too shallow, but the darkness isn't quite so dark now, and the sun will be up soon. They roll the body into the small hole, and Katniss quickly covers it up. She doesn't even need to ask Rue to fetch her gardening tools, and they carefully hide the grave under a garden plot that will never flower.

They head into the house. Prim is dressed, her hair neatly pinned up, the spare sheets neatly made on her bed, her broken possessions hidden. The room looks perfectly untouched. Katniss tries to smile at her, but she can't quite manage it. Rue cleans her ear and bandages it as best she can.

They need to work out a story, but they are all at a loss for words.

Rue and Katniss wash and change. The sun is out. The house is quiet. Rue starts to make oatmeal.

"Katniss," Prim whispers. Katniss shakes her head. She needs to talk to Gale. Prim milks Lady.

"He never came here," Katniss finally says. "We never saw him. My ear happened in the woods this morning, when I went to hunt. I can head out now, catch a few rabbits, and smear their blood on a fallen log, something that will easily excuse my ear. And then I think it best we stay with the Hawthornes."

Rue nods. Prim does, too. Katniss pulls her hunting boots out from the closet.

And someone pounds on the front door. Prim screams. Rue pulls out her knife.

"Katniss!" Gale shouts. Katniss can't run to the door fast enough, and Gale stumbles into the house, his hands heavy and tight on her arms as his eyes flicker over her bandaged ear. "I need you to tell me that you didn't shoot a man last night and bury him in your backyard," he says.

Katniss can't remember how to breathe.

"Gale," she whispers, "I shot a man last night and buried him in my backyard."

"He attacked me, Gale!" Prim says, fresh tears in her eyes. "Katniss _had_ to shoot him!"

Gale shuts the door, locking it, and he turns back to Katniss, but she can already imagine what he is about to explain. "That soldier didn't come to your house alone last night, Katniss. He came with his friend, who waited in the backyard for him. The man heard the musket fire, and he saw you carry the body out with Rue, and he ran before you saw him. The whole town knows, Katniss."

She shakes her head.

"It wasn't her fault," Rue insists. "Miss Prim is right. She only defended her sister and her home."

Gale doesn't really acknowledge her. His burning eyes stay on Katniss.

"It started a battle, Katniss," Gale continues, "even I heard the screaming about dirty Confederate soldiers and Unionist whores and — and half the houses on Fifth Street are up in _flames_, and — and, Katniss, listen to me, soldiers are on their way to the Seam, to _you_, right at this moment. They won't listen to reason. They won't. This town knows where you stand, even if you won't outright admit it; they know you're with the Union, and the corps know you shot a Confederate soldier. This is the perfect excuse they need to set the tears down the whole Seam and every Unionist in it."

"Oh, Gale, what do we do?" Prim cries.

Gale stares at Katniss. "Run," she whispers.

He nods. "Run."

"Where would we run?" Prim asks

Katniss whips around to face her. "No, Prim, _we_ won't run. They aren't about to hang you."

"I can take her," Gale says. "She can stay with me, with my family. The whole town knows Rory intends to marry her as soon as the war ends. It wouldn't be inappropriate for her to live with us."

"But —" Prim starts, shaking her head.

"I can keep her safe," Gale says. "I _will_ keep her safe." He waits for Katniss to nod, and he looks at Prim. "My little brother would never forgive me if I let anything happen to his girl, Primrose."

And neither would Katniss, but she needn't worry; she _knows_ Gale will protect her.

She turns to Rue, only to find that Rue isn't in the kitchen. "If you head to the forest," Gale says, "I can meet the soldiers here, and I can tell them that you weren't here when I arrived, and Prim was in tears because you had said you planned to run north, abandoning her after what you did."

"Yes," Katniss says, nodding.

"It means you can't head north," Gale says. "Head south or east. Keep to the forest."

"What about Miss Rue?" Prim asks.

"I'll help Miss Everdeen," Rue announces, walking in the room, two bundles in her hands. "I packed clothes for us both, Miss Everdeen, as well as some matches, your father's old canteen, and some medicine. We just need to pack what food we can, and we can run." Her face is set.

"Rue," Katniss whispers.

"The soldier saw me with the body, too," Rue tells her. She straightens. "And Mr. Mellark left me with you. I intend to stay with you. I'm quick, and I can help you." She stares fiercely at Katniss.

And Katniss nods. Prim starts to search out food. They don't have much.

Katniss pulls on her hunting boots, Rue packs away the toasted bread and dried squirrel meat that Prim finds, and Gale fills the canteen with water. Katniss can see smoke in the distance. They don't have any more time. It has all happened too fast, and she barely even has time to think that.

Prim clutches Katniss tightly. "Promise me you'll come home," she whispers.

Katniss kisses her forehead. "I will, Prim. I promise." Gale pulls her into a hug, and she presses her face into his shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to memorize every detail. She doesn't know what to say to him, and they can't linger; they need to leave within the very minute.

"Where will you go?" Gale asks, voice thick.

Katniss draws back from him. Rue is at the door. The answer comes easily to Katniss.

She only has one other friend in this world, one other person she can count on.

"Winchester."

* * *

><p>She crouches down behind the trees, and she waits. This is it. If this doesn't work, if Madge doesn't take her usual walk, Katniss doesn't know where she and Rue can possibly turn instead.<p>

Her letters say she always walks this path every morning to collect berries, to breathe fresh air.

Rue kneels quietly beside Katniss, her fingers tight around the little knife from Peeta, and Katniss curls her own fingers around her musket. The sun starts to rise, and Katniss spots honeysuckles across the path, too far for her to reach but close enough for her to smell. Her mouth waters, even as her stomach curls with hunger pains more acute than even her pounding head or her parched throat.

It took nearly five days to walk this far. They haven't had anything to eat in two, and the stream they followed dried up last night. But they are _finally_ in Winchester, or at the outskirts. But Katniss won't believe them safe yet. They won't be until they find Madge; they won't be unless Madge can help them. She hears light footsteps, and she doesn't breathe. A girl appears, small basket in hand.

Katniss almost faints. But she manages to scramble to her feet, breathing the name. "Madge."

Madge gasps, her basket falling to the ground, blackberries spilling around her feet.

"What's happened?" Madge asks, reaching for Katniss.

"I hate to ask so much from you," Katniss says, taking her outstretched, offered hands, "but I didn't no where else to turn. I've done something terrible, Madge, something I can't take back."

"What is it?"

But Katniss can't explain here. She beckons Madge into the trees where Rue waits. Madge looks well, her face round, healthy, her thick blonde hair neatly pinned up, her dress a softer, more expensive material than anyone wears back home. She doesn't hesitate to follow Katniss, though, and she kneels down on the ground, concerned eyes searching Katniss and Rue for answers.

Katniss does her best to explain, the soldiers, Prim, the body in the backyard, Gale warning her.

Madge squeezes her hand. "You can stay with me at the Capitol."

"I don't know if —" Katniss doesn't want to put Madge in any danger.

But Madge shakes her head. "I certainly cannot allow you to live in the forest, Katniss, starving and running for your life until the war ends. No. I'm _certain_ my uncle won't begrudge you a room at the Capitol, especially not if you help out around the kitchen. And it won't be hard to make up a story for you. We can say you're my married friend come to stay with me because you aren't comfortable at home with your husband away at war. And Rue is your faithful servant —"

"Slave," Rue says. "I'll be safer as her slave." She starts to fumble in her pack, and a moment later she pulls something out, handing it to Katniss. "And you can wear this. It'll ease any doubts."

Katniss looks at what Rue dropped in her palm. A gold ring.

"It belongs to Mr. Mellark," Rue explains, "but he left it to me in case I might need to sell it for money. He would want you to have it." She smiles, encouraging, and Madge smiles, too, nodding.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you used his name, either," Madge says, something else in her voice.

Katniss is ready to shake her head, to refuse the ring and the name and the entire story, but Peeta likely _is_ dead, and she does need a new name, especially if she stays. She looks at Rue, and she looks at Madge, and she looks at the ring that shines in the sunlight. She is starved, parched, exhausted. She needs refuge.

She slips the ring on her finger. "How should we approach your uncle?" she asks Madge.

"It won't be hard," Madge says. "Uncle Haymitch doesn't care enough about anything to ask too many questions, and Aunt Maysilee is too sweet to be suspicious. I can take you around to the kitchens and help you clean up, find food for you, and take you around to the front. I'll say I simply forgot to warn them that you had come to stay, and Uncle Haymitch will rolls his eyes, but that that will be all, I promise. Although I should warn you —" And she hesitates for the first time.

"What?" Katniss asks.

"I should warn you that the hotel doesn't let in many guests," Madge says slowly, "because all the Union army officers live with us. They're mostly the pleasant sort, and they shouldn't bother you, but they aren't the most pleasant to Southern ladies, so if you do stay, you must act humbly, act as little like a proper Southern lady as you can, and — and you'll be fine. I'll help." She smiles.

Katniss nods. It won't be tough to act _not_ like a Southern lady.

They bury the musket in the forest, but Rue tucks her knife safely in her pack.

It isn't a long walk into town, and Madge doesn't take them to the main street, to the front entrance, but instead she circles around through narrow alleys, and she leads Katniss and Rue into a small hall where coats are hung on pegs that line the walls, and from down the hall Katniss can hear a kitchen, muffled voices mingled with clanging pots and pans, and sweet, wonderful smells waft towards her, making her still hungrier, but she knows she needs to be patient just a little while longer.

Madge helps Rue and Katniss change into fresh, clean clothes, and she brings them water to drink and water to wash their hands and faces. She helps Katniss with her bandaged ear, and she fetches them fresh bread with cheese next, as well as apples that are so sweet Katniss can hardly stand it.

She tries to eat slowly, afraid to make herself sick, but she is finished within a few minutes.

They head back onto the street, and they walk nearly ten minutes so that they can approach the hotel properly. Katniss hasn't ever stepped foot in a hotel, yet she is about to live in one so large and so splendid as the Capitol, an old, wide, towering building that stretches across almost half a block.

It amazes her that Madge really is a Southern lady, or at least her maternal aunt is.

Madge went to stay in Winchester several months before the secession, sent by her ailing mother and her overworked father so that she could receive better schooling, and her aunt, without any children herself, was more than happy to look after her only niece at the hotel her wealthy husband inherited.

Madge described the hotel in vivid detail in the letters she wrote Katniss, yet the building still leaves Katniss absolutely breathless. It is five stories high, pillars lining the front, and a hotel porter tips his hat at Madge as he opens the door for them. Katniss avoids his eye, and she lets Madge take her sweaty hand as they walk into the entrance hall, where the rugs and the paintings and the chairs that line the rose papered walls, edged in gold, make Katniss feel faint with the extravagance.

"Madge, darling!" someone calls, and Katniss takes a deep breath.

The woman who calls for Madge is a short, plump woman with a pink face, her nose a little too small, her eyes a little too big, and her head topped with thick, curling blonde hair that struggles to free itself from a large, ornate purple clasp that matches her flowing lacy purple skirts. And the woman isn't alone, but instead walks beside a tall, thin man with a black mustache over fat lips.

All Katniss can really notice, however, is his neat blue uniform, that worn by Union soldiers.

Madge curtsies to him, and she calls him General Boggs, and she says she collected enough blackberries this morning for a wonderful pie, the kind he likes best, which pulls a smile from him.

He isn't a Union soldier; he is a Union _general_. Katniss can't look him in the eye.

"Aunt Maysilee," Madge greets, "you won't believe who just arrived on the train, and two days early — I hadn't time to warn you. I meant to, Aunt, truly, I swear it, but it completely slipped my mind!" Her eyes are wide and innocent, and her aunt smiles indulgently at her. Madge turns to look at Katniss, and her aunt looks to Katniss, too, curious. "This is my _dearest_ friend," Madge says.

Katniss steps forward, unsure how to act, how to smile, how even to stand.

She is suddenly self-conscious in her brown cotton skirt and threadbare blue cotton smock, her whole person so out of place in this beautiful hotel.

But Madge quickly explains that she invited Katniss to stay here, to escape their lonely war torn town, where she cannot sleep safely at night with her husband away at war, and Maysilee Abernathy looks to Katniss, her large blue eyes soft and sympathetic, exactly as sweet as Madge always described.

Katniss tries not to let her hands tremble, and she presses her thumb to the ring on her left hand.

"Oh, my dear Mrs. Mellark," Maysilee exclaims, "you are _more_ than welcome to stay with us!"

And Katniss offers the best smile she can, refusing to let any fear shine through.

**tbc.**


	3. Chapter 3

_a/n: this chapter wasn't as fun for me to write, so it took me a while to work my way through it, but hopefully you still like it! and I'm sorry it's so long, but I was so determined to end at one particular point, so a ridiculous amount happens in this chapter. I hope the length doesn't put you off! the next chapter should, fingers crossed, be up within a week._

* * *

><p>This is absolutely absurd. This entire hotel, herself in it because she murdered a man. Absurd.<p>

Her voice is lost, her mind too full with the opulence, but she needn't even try to find any words, not when Maysilee Abernathy can easily, happily fill the afternoon with her own unending chatter.

As she leads Katniss to the third landing, she chatters about the hotel itself, about the history, about the imported paintings in the hall, about the library that Katniss is welcome to use, and her chatter doesn't end when she opens a door and reveals the room where she expects Katniss to stay, a room that leaves Katniss as breathless as she is speechless. A window stretches across one wall, ivory lace curtains drawn back, curtains that match the bedspread and the plush chairs; fresh cut flowers are on the small table tucked between a magnificent wardrobe and a small, personal fireplace.

"If I could," Mrs. Abernathy says, large eyes apologetic as she takes Katniss by both hands, "I would find you a room with a parlor, too, but I'm afraid all those rooms are taken." And she sighs.

"This is lovely, Aunt," Madge says, speaking for Katniss, whose eyes travel from the tasseled floral rug spread out across the floor to the rosebud wallpaper to the gas lamp by the bed. She hasn't ever even _seen_ a gas lamp before, yet here she is to have one solely for her personal use.

Mrs. Abernathy starts to say something about how the curtains are imported when musket fire cuts her off, and they all look to the window. "Oh, dear, dear," Mrs. Abernathy murmurs, "another sweetheart must've been left holding the bag for that old flummox." She tuts her tongue, only to looks at Katniss a moment later with a forced smile. Katniss wants to ask what she means, but —

"But look at me!" Mrs. Abernathy exclaims. "A darling just off the train, surely _exhausted_, and I cannot stop jawing and let you settle in. Oh, dear, dear. I shall show Rue to the servant quarters, and let you wash up, my dear, and take a nap, too, before dinner. I shall even send up tea for you!"

Katniss starts to protest, but Mrs. Abernathy only pats her on the cheek and bustles from the room, pulling Madge and Rue with her, and "now, Rue, you _must_ tell me what Mrs. Mellark likes to eat best, so we can prepare it special for her first night. My Abigail makes a _splendid_ roast with —"

Madge looks back at Katniss, her amusement evident, before the door is shut, and Katniss is left by herself. She looks around her room. She is afraid even to sit on the plush chairs by the window.

A pretty floral washing jug is tucked into the corner, and she decides to start with that. She does her best to wash her hair, and she combs it out, braiding and pinning it up, making herself look at least marginally decent. She tries to ignore her bloodied, bandaged ear, and her dress can't be helped, no matter how the cheap, worn cotton material among all this splendor makes her stand out.

Is this to be her life in Winchester? Is she expected to lounge around a luxurious hotel as Maysilee Abernathy gabs excessively until the wars ends? She looks out the window, peaking out onto the street. She doesn't know what Mrs. Abernathy meant earlier when she tutted over the musket fire, but it seems the streets in Winchester are as unsafe as those she just left. The war is everywhere.

And so, it seems, is Mrs. Abernathy, who bustles back into the room, a tea tray in her hands.

A servant stands by her, put out, but Mrs. Abernathy would like to serve Katniss the tea herself, she says, as she is _plenty_ capable, and Katniss silently accepts a cup from the woman who starts to chatter about where Katniss can find Rue, where the kitchens are, where the beautiful ballroom is.

Katniss nods and smiles and listens, and Mrs. Abernathy is more than pleased with that.

The moment she exhausts the hotel as a subject, she starts to talk about Winchester, about the gardens that Katniss needs to visit, about the best theatre. And if Katniss wants, she can talk Haymitch into a visit to the theatre that very night. "I need only talk long and loudly enough that he cannot stand it," she explains, "and he will agree to do whatever it is I want if only I let off!"

She laughs delightedly, and Katniss tries to chuckle, too. Mrs. Abernathy isn't offended by whatever sound Katniss does manage to make. She only sips her tea, and she chatters more still.

As long as Mrs. Abernathy continues to chatter, Katniss isn't forced to talk about herself at all.

Madge said that her uncle wouldn't begrudge her a room if Katniss helped in the kitchen, but her aunt doesn't appear to deem that necessary. Katniss would almost rather sleep with the servants and work in the kitchen, however, than have this grandeur foisted upon her. But it isn't up to her, is it?

Mrs. Abernathy invites Katniss to dinner with herself, her husband, and Madge, and "consider it an open invitation, my dear, because if you are a friend to Madge, you a friend to me, and I always consider my friends to be my family, and I love nothing more than a dinner with my dear friends!"

Katniss wants to interrupt the chatter for just a moment to thank Mrs. Abernathy, but she is unable to express properly how grateful she feels not to be expected to eat in the large, ornate dining hall where the guests eat, or, more importantly, where all the Union soldiers eat. She tries to think what her mother would say, and she manages finally to thanks Mrs. Abernathy for her Christian charity.

Mrs. Abernathy only waves her hand, dismissive. "Oh, no need to thank me, my dear!"

Katniss isn't sure what she imagines Mr. Abernathy to be like, but it certainly isn't what he is.

A tall man, broad shoulders, round belly stretching his vest, cheeks unshaven, mouth a thin line.

He looks as unpleasant as Mrs. Abernathy looks pleasant, and quick, quiet girls serve three entire courses at the small table before Katniss hears Mr. Abernathy so much as grunt. That shouldn't surprise her; he has probably lost the ability to speak after so many years married to his wife.

He leans back in his seat as the servants clear the last plates, however, his eyes on Katniss, and finally says something. "So, how long do you intend to stay with us, Mrs. Mellark?" He pulls out a cigar, and he looks at her with an expression she can't quite read, an expression that disquiets her.

"As long as you might let me, Mr. Abernathy," Katniss replies, smiling as politely as she can.

"I told you, Haymitch," Mrs. Abernathy breaks in, "her husband is her only family, and he is in the war. And don't smoke that at the dinner table!" She smacks his hand, making Madge cough to hide a laugh. Mrs. Abernathy looks at Katniss. "You are _more_ than welcome here until the war ends."

Katniss smiles.

"What regiment is your husband?" Mr. Abernathy asks.

And she falters.

"Don't let's talk about the war, Uncle," Madge says. "The day is already filled with it."

"Our dear Madge is right," Mrs. Abernathy says.

But Mr. Abernathy only continues to stare, appraising, at Katniss.

"I am not accustomed to any finery, Mr. Abernathy," Katniss says, "and I shall gladly earn my keep, if not in the kitchen than wherever you might need." She meets his stare with her head high.

"That isn't necessary!" Mrs. Abernathy exclaims, aghast.

"No," Mr. Abernathy cuts in, "if she wants to work in the kitchen, let her. Milroy wouldn't like another woman in his hotel, acting like a lady with her slave and her Confederate husband, but another hand in the kitchen won't warrant even so much as a pause from him." He starts to stand.

"This isn't _his_ hotel," Mrs. Abernathy says, her voice surprisingly sharp.

"As long as the Union occupies Winchester," Mr. Abernathy replies, "it most certainly is, May."

He walks out, muttering something to a servant, and Mrs. Abernathy only sighs, the sound smaller, less dramatic, so much more genuine. She manages to smile apologetically at Katniss, though, and she starts her chatter, her face somehow a little less pink, a little less pleased.

A few minutes later, a thin, tall servant with thick red hair and a face like a fox appears to fetch Mrs. Abernathy, who bustles out. Madge smiles at Katniss. "Come on," she says, "I'll show you the hotel gardens, and we can talk." Katniss nods, grateful. After all that food, as rich as the hotel is extravagant, a walk sounds wonderful, and a chance to talk freely with Madge sounds better still.

The air outside is warm and sweet.

"Are you overwhelmed yet?" Madge asks. She looks at Katniss, and she starts to laugh. "It is too much, this whole hotel, isn't it? Even after almost three years, I still feel as if it is simply too much."

"I like your aunt," Katniss says. "She isn't much like any Southern lady I've ever met."

"No," Madge says, "she really is not." She shakes her head fondly. "If she seems to crowd you, please forgive her. She is lonely, I think. General Milroy possesses no fondness for the Southern lady, so Uncle Haymitch keeps my aunt far from such society, from the ladies whom General Milroy would like nothing better than to do away with, but those are, of course, her close friends."

"I cannot imagine if he dislikes the Southern Lady," Katniss says, "General Milroy likes your aunt herself." She thinks a woman as sweet as Mrs. Abernathy is the best Southern society can offer, much better than the few ladies with whom Katniss herself is acquainted, but it isn't a distinction Katniss imagines someone like the man Madge describes would bother to respect or even to make.

"He does not," Madge admits, "but my uncle keeps her as far from him as he keeps her from her friends." And Madge softens a little. "He doesn't often show it, but he does dearly loves my aunt."

Katniss nods.

"He isn't much like any gentlemen I've ever met," she says.

"No," Madge says, eyes widening a little, "he _definitely_ is not. But that I can explain with much more assurance — he fought in the Mexican War. And, well, war changes people, doesn't it?"

"Not usually for the best," Katniss murmurs, and Madge only nods, quiet. "But, Madge, tell me more about this General Milroy. Who is he? A bad egg?"

"Major General Milroy," Madge says, "is the man to whom all the troops in Winchester answer."

"And he stays at the hotel?" Katniss asks.

Madge nods. "But you won't see him much, I am sure. He is too busy waging a personal war against Southern society in Winchester." She describes him a little, but the sun starts to set, and they are forced inside. Madge shows Katniss where she lives, and she takes her to the kitchens.

Katniss can't help herself when she pulls Rue close, embracing her the moment she sees her.

Rue only smiles, clean and fed and unharmed, and that somehow reassures Katniss.

A half hour later, trying to ignore the loud, rowdy rumble from the floor above her, Katniss crawls into her bed. She doubts she can sleep, not with her mind so full, but her head sinks into the pillow, and five days running, hiding in the woods, fearing to rest for too long, rock her to sleep.

She wakes untouched by nightmares, and she almost reaches for Prim beside her in bed.

But she remembers where she is, what her life is. She dresses quickly, quietly, watching pink slowly streak into the sky as the sun rises, and she hurries down to the kitchen. She is unable to convince anyone in the kitchen to let her work, but she doesn't have anywhere else to be.

A few days later, and she is finally assigned to help prepare breakfast.

Her life quickly becomes routine, her time spent in the kitchens where she can work alongside Rue, her lunch at a small table tucked into a corner, her dinner served beside a perpetually irritated Mr. Abernathy and a persistently chattering Mrs. Abernathy. And she sits in the gardens with Madge for a few minutes in the evening before bed, just to remember what the outside world looks like.

Madge never says it, but Katniss knows she shouldn't risk the streets in Winchester.

After a week, Katniss works out the right way to ask Mrs. Abernathy is she might be allowed to plot her own little garden, just to keep her hands busy, and Mrs. Abernathy ready agrees, even asking Katniss what seeds she should order. The chance simply to sink her fingers into fresh dirt and to feel the sun on her neck is as close to hunting as Katniss can come, and she cherishes it.

Almost every night, Mrs. Abernathy insists that they all attend the theatre, and Mr. Abernathy finally agrees after nearly two weeks. Katniss sees Milroy for the first time at the theatre, where he looks thoroughly annoyed with everyone and everything. He doesn't address her, and she can see his clear disinterest when she is introduced, her threadbare clothes surely a deterrent in any interest.

As far as she can tell, he is even more unpleasant than Mr. Abernathy, and she is happy that her interaction with any Union soldiers is as little as it is. She sees General Boggs most often, mainly because Mrs. Abernathy likes to dote on "a sweetheart so far from his wife and his children, the poor, poor dear!" and Katniss likes General Boggs a little, certainly more than she does Milroy.

His slave stays with the servants, too, but Katniss rarely sees him in the kitchen; she really only spots him in glimpses as General Boggs passes an order onto him. He is a huge, hulking man, and he looks somehow familiar to Katniss, as if she might've seen him before, but it is impossible.

General Boggs is from New York, after all.

She learns that at dinner the same night Mrs. Abernathy stirs her summer soup a little, turns to Katniss, and asks, eyes bright, "why do I know so little about your husband, Mrs. Mellark?" She smiles, expectant, and Katniss looks at Madge, but her friends only smiles expectantly as well.

Katniss won't forgive her easily for that.

"I suppose I haven't spoke about him much," Katniss says, mind scrambling for a way out.

"No, you certainly haven't. And I understand you must miss him _terribly_, my dear, but you are such a friend to me, and he is your _husband_ — it breaks my heart to think he is a stranger to me!"

"Yes, Mrs. Mellark," Mr. Abernathy says, wiping his mouth, "tell us about your husband. Peeta Mellark, isn't that right? A unique name. Peeta." And he stares at her in his strange, uncomfortable, disconcerting way, as if he knows that the ring on her finger isn't rightfully hers by any stretch.

"Oh, you needn't talk about him," Madge says softly, finally helping. She looks at her aunt. "Mr. Mellark hasn't written to his wife since last summer, and —" And she pauses, enough already said.

General Boggs smiles sadly at Katniss, but Mr. Abernathy doesn't even blink.

"No," Katniss murmurs, "it's fine. It is a unique name, yes, Mr. Abernathy. He is a baker, and the name is passed down in his family." She hesitates. What _does_ she know about Peeta? "He is a kind man, more so than any in this world, and he is honorable, and good — so, so _good_." There.

Jostling her plate, Mrs. Abernathy stretches across the table to take Katniss by the hand.

"I shall pray every night that God returns him to you, Mrs. Mellark."

Katniss nods, and the subject is dropped.

* * *

><p>All she really remembers about the night that ends her easy routine is how it stormed.<p>

The rain falls in sheets, pouring down as if God himself were furious, as if he wanted to thrust another flood upon the world. Katniss can't manage to sleep, instead staring at the rain that beats against her window so loudly she imagines she wouldn't her herself should she speak aloud.

The kitchens are quiet and anxious the next morning, and she asks a small, pockmarked woman what happened. The telegraph lines are cut, and already the musket fire can be heard in the street.

Katniss peaks outside, sees the skirmishing with her own eyes.

It isn't the fighting that scares her; after two years she is accustomed to that. It's what the fighting might mean. At lunch, Rue tells Katniss that all the servants are convinced the Confederacy is about to charge the town, but Milroy insists they can't. "But what do _you_ think?" Katniss asks.

Rue bites her lip. "Mr. Mellark had a word for braggarts," she says. "Blowhards. I think General Milroy is a blowhard, Miss Everdeen. And I wouldn't be surprised if he is wrong to be so sure —"

Another servant walks past them, and Rue doesn't finish. She doesn't need to finish.

At dinner, not even Mrs. Abernathy can muster her usual cheer. The table is painfully quiet without her chatter, and Katniss tries not to stare at Mr. Abernathy too much. She can't help it. If the Confederates are truly about to take Winchester, he must surely know better than anyone. But his face remains impassive, and dinner finishes. Madge and Katniss don't walk outside that night.

It takes Katniss hours to fall asleep, the room too quiet, the occasional musket fire snap in the street making her heart jump, even if the skirmishes are finished. But she finally manages to fall asleep, and it isn't light out when large hands roughly shake her awake, and terror momentarily chokes her.

"Wake up, sweetheart; _dammit_, wake up!" The panicked voice is harsh and low and too familiar.

She is face to face with Mr. Abernathy, and she scrambles to sit up, trying to blink away sleep as she stares at his outline, all she can see in the dark. "Mr. Abernathy —" she says, hands curled around her sheets, too shocked even to start to imagine why she should be alarmed or fearful or —

"Listen," he breathes, "the Confederates surrounded us. Milroy fled last night, the damn deadbeat. The Confederates are here. Winchester is taken. Winchester is theirs." His hands bruise her arms, his breath hot against her face, and she struggles to understand. "This hotel is theirs, too, Mellark."

"I don't —"

"And they've already started to kill," he says. "A bullet to the head for anyone they think the Union might've left behind on purpose. Already, eleven are dead. It's a bloodbath, do you understand? They've splattered _brains_ on that damn Italian carpet Maysilee adores. _Do you understand me_?"

"The Confederates are here, they have Winchester, they have the Capitol," Katniss says. "But —"

"A woman should be here as soon as it is light out," Haymitch says, "an old friend, and she is as asinine as they come, but you must listen to what she says — _do_ what she says, no matter what."

"I understand that Winchester is a battlefield," she says, "and the hotel changing hands means —"

"No, you don't understand," he cuts in, "and you _don't_ know what it means. This isn't a coal town, sweetheart. Listen to me. You know as well as I do what _exactly_ it is your husband does in this war, so you especially cannot let the Confederates have any reason at all to doubt your loyalties."

Katniss can only gape at him, her heart hammering against her chest, trying to leap out.

What exactly is it her husband does for the Confederacy, and how can _Haymitch Abernath_y know?

Did? Does? Is he alive? And, wait, no, he isn't actually her husband, but if Mr. Abernathy —

Mr. Abernathy steps back, away from her, and starts towards the door. "Wait —"

"And remember to smile," he adds, "the Confederacy wants to see their Southern ladies smile."

She hears the door open and shut, and she is by herself, the room still dark, her heart still racing, the world tilted underneath her. What did any of that mean? What just happened? She stumbles from the bed to the window, and she pulls back the curtains. She can see a few fires in the streets, and Confederate soldiers are everywhere, their muskets raised. She yanks the curtain shut.

She moves to her washing jug, splashes the cold water on her face, tries to make sense of it all.

Mr. Abernathy knows something that Katniss doesn't, but he thinks she does. Fine. She can pretend she does, at least until she knows if she can trust him. He seems to think she should, and he seems like he wants to protect her. From what? And what about Peeta Mellark?

She splashes still more water on her face, forcing herself to breathe in and to breathe out.

What about Madge? What does Madge know? Nothing, probably. But Katniss can't be sure.

Rue. She needs to talk to Rue. She _knows_ can trust Rue. She can't say the same for anyone else.

She dresses as quickly as she can, light starting to peak through the curtains, and she is almost finished when someone raps loudly on the door. She fumbles with the last few buttons. It doesn't matter. The door opens, and a woman surges in, heels clicking, her dress a bright gold streaked with pink, the skirt a wide, ridiculous hoop. Her hair is perfectly curled, and her face is painted on.

"Mrs. Mellark!" the woman crows. "My, I see my expertise is _very_ needed! But, oh, don't you worry, I have a spiffy little dress for you from Mrs. Abernathy, and we'll find something nifty to do with all that hair! But a bath first! We must scrub away all the dirt those Unionists kicked up!"

She claps her hands, and three servants stream in behind her. Katniss doesn't recognize them, but they don't bother with an introduction before they reach for the button on her dress, and she stumbles backwards. "I beg your pardon, but I'm not sure what this is —" She shakes her head.

"Oh!" the woman exclaims. "I haven't introduced myself! I'm Maysilee's friend. And just you wait until you see the dress May bought for you, Mrs. Mellark. _Stunning_. It will make you forget completely that those awful Union soldiers burned your best dresses." She sighs, sympathetic.

Katniss stares, stunned, and one servant suddenly pulls Katniss's dress down, nearly tearing it. The other starts to untie her corset. "Just tear it off, Octavia," the woman says. "That dreadful cloth shouldn't even _touch_ a woman. I shall tell May she needs to order you some proper underclothes as well!"

And she smiles at Katniss, even as more servants arrive, carrying a copper tub between them.

They want her to take a bath. This is by far _the_ most absurd —

But she remembers Haymitch. Listen to the woman, however asinine she might be. _This_ woman?

The woman pats her arm, even as the servants abruptly tug down her knickers, and Katniss stumbles. They catch her. The servants start to fill the tub. The woman continues to smile that awful smile, and Katniss finally manages to talk. "I still don't know your name, ma'am," she says.

"Oh, of course!" the woman says. "I'm Effie Trinket. Smile, darling! We have a big, big, big day ahead!"

* * *

><p>Effie tells Katniss to call her Effie, <em>please<em>! Katniss tells Effie to call her Mrs. Mellark, thank you.

Katniss is scrubbed until her skin is pink and her modesty is rudely silenced.

She is lacquered in sweet, thick lotions afterward, before the servants force starched, white underclothes, the material far too expensive, onto her, and Katniss can't _breathe_ in the corset, "oh, look, you _do_ have hips, Mrs. Mellark!" The servants surely intend to tear all her hair out, and her heart stops when she learns that the metal rod they've started to heat over the oven is meant to curl her hair. It takes all her self-restraint not to shove the rod at Effie and run from the room.

The dress is a light blue material, silky under her fingertips, and she tries not to think about how ridiculous she must look with a hoop skirt. Her hair is hot and heavy on her head, and she closes her eyes when Effie powders her face. Her eyes snap back open, however, when Effie starts to pinch her cheeks, and she swats Effie away. "We want a _natural_ red!" Effie cries, exasperated.

The shoes the servants lace on far too expensive, but Katniss can walk relatively well in them, and she is grateful for that. She is still forced to practice her walk, back and forth, back and forth, as Effie raps her on the back and pulls back her shoulders and tells her not to scowl quite so much.

"I suppose May did warn me that you weren't much for propriety," Effie says, sighing. "I simply don't know how you ever managed to convince a man to marry you with _that_ scowl on your face."

"My husband never seems to mind the scowl," Katniss hisses, beyond irritated.

But she is finally freed from her room so she can attend lunch with Mrs. Abernathy and Madge, and she tries to ignore Effie, continuing her posture advice under her breathe, as she walks down the stairs. She doesn't know how she manages not to stumble over all her skirts, but she is finally on the first landing, and Madge, dressed as elegantly as Katniss, meets her with a teasing smile.

"I feel like a stuffed peacock," Katniss whispers.

Madge giggles under her breath, elbowing Katniss lightly in solidarity. "Trust me," Madge tells her quietly, "before the Union soldiers arrived last winter, this is how ladies kept safest." Katniss nods.

All she really wants is to talk to Mr. Abernathy, to _demand_ an explanation.

She doesn't possess a free moment, however, and she only even sees him at dinner. All through lunch, Mrs. Abernathy acts oddly, giggling too much at the gossip that Effie shares, her own chatter subdued in a way that worries Katniss. She doesn't even fawn over Madge and Katniss and their dresses and their curled hair. Katniss wishes she would; it would almost be a small comfort.

She notices as she passes the lobby that the Italian carpet Mrs. Abernathy so adores is missing, and she remembers what Mr. Abernathy said. Brains on the Italian carpet. A bloodbath. Eleven dead.

But at dinner Mrs. Abernathy is a wonderful hostess, as if completely unaffected by the guests.

Katniss _is_ affected.

She sits safely between Madge and Effie, but a Confederate sits across from her, a tall, bony man with dark hair, a dark beard, and dark eyes, his whole countenance so strikingly different from Boggs that it makes Katniss uncomfortable. He took her hand when Effie first led her into the room, and he kissed her knuckles as he introduced himself. General Seneca Crane. She doesn't like his companions any better; seated to his left, both officers, they are large, fat men who drink far too much, laugh far too loudly, and talk to Katniss as if her head is all fluff under her coiling curls.

She looks at Mr. Abernathy as often as she can, as if she might be able to gauge some explanation from his expression, but he stays silent and stoic throughout the meal. He doesn't once look at her.

General Crane does. "Mrs. Abernathy tells me your husband fights for our Confederacy, Mrs. Mellark." He smiles, and she nods, trying to smile, too. "I am sure he is proud to defend a wife such as yourself," Crane says. Katniss does her best to look pleased. "With what regiment is he?"

"The kid is with old Heavensbee, actually," Mr. Abernathy answers. Crane looks impressed. "He is the best shot in Virginia, Peeta Mellark." He sips his drink, and Crane smiles, nodding, satisfied.

Katniss _needs_ to find out what it is Haymitch Abernathy knows about Peeta that she does not.

Mrs. Abernathy asks if Crane will possibly have any time to visit the theatre, and Katniss attempts to will away the dinner. The sooner dinner is finished, the sooner she can talk to Mr. Abernathy.

Another hour, and Mr. Abernathy suggests that his wife show General Crane around the hotel, a proper tour as only she can provide, and "ask Madge to show you the library, too," he tells them. Madge smiles, always so polite. Katniss is terrified she will be roped into the tour, too, but she realizes a few minutes later when General Crane wishes her goodnight what Mr. Abernathy did.

She walks outside by herself, her stomach too full with food that she didn't taste, her dress too hot and too heavy, making her feel faint, her whole body tight and tense with this terrible day, though she knows whatever horrors will accompany Confederate occupation haven't been introduced yet.

She hears heavy, lazy footsteps. "How can you garden in that dress?" he asks.

"I can't," she replies, sour, turning to him. "Mr. Abernathy —"

"Effie might not know much," Mr. Abernathy says, "but she knows her way around a dress." He pulls a cigar from his pocket, but he doesn't look at Katniss. She waits, trying to bite her tongue, to let him explain himself. "Mrs. Abernathy already ordered more dresses for you, and they'll be here soon. You can borrow dresses from Madge until they arrive." He fiddles with a matchbox.

"I cannot afford even one such dress, Mr. Abernathy."

"Take the dresses or find somewhere else to live, sweetheart," he replies, "because you can't stay at the Capitol if you can't manage to look like you belong." He starts to pull on his cigar, eyes closed.

Her frustration surges forward. "Why?" she says. "Why can't I stick to the kitchens, a servant like any other? Why would that bother General Crane so much? And how do you know Mr. Mellark?"

She bites back the more important question. Is Peeta Mellark somehow still alive?

Mr. Abernathy sighs heavily, exasperated, puffing on his cigar.

She presses her lips together, and she stares coldly at him, and she silently demands answers.

"We both know why you're here, Mrs. Mellark," he starts. "It isn't to work in the kitchens, and working in the kitchens won't help your cause. A lady is much less cause for suspicion, and such a _superb_ actress like yourself needs as many cards in her hands as possible. Take the dresses."

It doesn't make any sense. Does he know about the soldier who attacked Prim? No.

He thinks she is here for something else. What?

"Mr. Mellark. How do you know him? Is he even — is he still alive?" She keeps her face hard.

"I wouldn't know any better than you," Mr. Abernathy says. "You're his wife, aren't you?"

He puffs on his cigar, silent, entirely unhelpful.

And that means Peeta probably is dead. Mr. Abernathy met Peeta once, learned something about him that he expects Katniss to know, and Peeta since died. She doesn't know why the information she already knows makes her insides twist so painfully tight. But she is suddenly overwhelmed.

She wants to tear this damn dress off, wants to pull the heavy curls from her hair, wants to scream.

"Mr. Abernathy," she breathes, furious, "I do not know why you think we know everything about one another, but I am not about to trust you blindly, and you cannot possibly expect that from me!"

He acts as if she didn't speak. "The Confederacy controls the whole valley now, you know that? The whole damn valley." He puffs on his cigar. "Heard Lee plans to push North. Win the war."

She is supposed to understand. It would be helpful if he would say _what_ she is supposed to understand. But before she can so much as open her mouth to ask, he starts to shake his head.

She might have to slap him. A proper Southern lady can still slap a mean old man, can't she?

Katniss will have to ask Effie.

"General Crane answers to General Snow," Mr. Abernathy continues, "so if there were plans to push north, Crane would probably know, would probably possess a letter, or a map, or —" He shrugs. Puffs his cigar. Doesn't look at her. And he turns to head back inside, apparently finished.

"That's it?" Katniss asks. "That's all you have to tell me?"

He looks back. He almost smiles. "Stay alive." He seems amused with himself, and she is too angry to do more than watch him disappear into the hotel. She stands for a moment, sweating through her ridiculous dress, and she is feels sick with an abrupt, aching need for this war to end.

If this war ends, she can go home, to Prim, to Gale, _home_, where she belongs.

But all she can do at this moment is walk back inside the hotel, return to her elegant room, and hide away in a bed that is far too soft, far too large, far too empty. She sighs. No. She can talk to Rue. She slips back inside, hurrying towards the kitchens, towards her only ally in this awful place.

But she reaches the lobby at the same moment a slender girl appears on the stairs, a traveling cloak carelessly tossed over her shoulders, her small, brown bag smacking the banister in her haste. She starts to stumble, clutching the banister, before suddenly her whole face contorts with abject terror.

Katniss takes a step back, hidden in the shadow, unseen but still able to see the girl and the soldier.

He stands a few feet from the stairs, thick blonde hair, broad shoulders, a smug expression. "Were you really under the impression, my dear," he starts, "that you could just walk out the front door?"

She holds her cloak a little closer, almost cowering against the banister. Katniss recognizes her at last; she doesn't remember her name, but this is the servant who always puts out the fresh flowers.

"I did not —" the girl says, shaking her head, "I only — _please _—" Her lip trembles, eyes wet.

And the soldier pulls out a revolver and shoots her in the head.

Katniss claps a hand into her mouth just in time to stop a scream, but her heart pounds so loudly she fears the soldier will hear it. He only lowers his revolver and walks calmly to the stairs, where the girl is sprawled awkwardly, limbs askew, blood dripping from forehead, eyes glassy, dead.

He picks through her skirts, pulls out a small paper, and unfolds it, his lips tugging up in a smirk as he reads. "Is that my map?" General Crane asks, and Katniss bites on her palm as she watches him cross the lobby with a lazy, even step. The soldier straightens, heels pressing together, face turned cold, and he obediently hands General Crane the paper. Crane looks at it. He starts to smile.

"As always, Cato," he murmurs, "excellent work."

The soldier, Cato, nods. "Thank you, sir."

Crane looks at the girl. "And she really thought she could spy in _my _hotel. Steal from _my _parlor." He spits on her. "Send for a slave to clean it up. We wouldn't want Maysilee Abernathy to see. It doesn't match the decor." He chuckles, tucks the map in his pocket, and walks back down the hall.

Katniss waits until Cato disappears down the hall, too, towards the kitchen, before she races for the stairs. She is forced to pass the girl, a girl whose name she doesn't even know, but she can't risk the kitchens, not when it means she might cross paths with that soldier. He did not even _hesitate_ to shoot that poor, trembling, terrified, _crying_ girl. Katniss can hear the thud the body made when it hit the stairs, and she trips on her dress, falling onto her knees. She pushes herself up, grateful that the corridor is empty, and stumbles down the hall, finally reaches her room, shuts herself inside.

She almost screams when she realizes she is not alone. But —

"Rue," she breathes.

"I told your maids that I would help you undress," Rue starts, eyes raking over Katniss. "But, Ms. Everdeen, what's the matter? What's happened?" She takes a hesitant step towards Katniss, and Katniss tries to tell her what she saw, but she doubts her explanation actually makes much sense.

All she can think about is what Mr. Abernathy said. Stay alive.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Miss Everdeen," Rue murmurs, touching her hand. "We have to be careful," she says. "We were lucky under the Union occupation. They ignored us, the greatest blessing they could possibly have bestowed. But we are under Confederate occupation now, and we might be for months, if not _years_, more. We have to be careful, Miss Everdeen." She is so much like Prim in that moment, with sweet, sensible words meant to soothe Katniss, and it works.

"I think after all we've been through," Katniss says softly, "you can call me Katniss."

Rue is her friend, isn't she?

Rue smiles. "We should try to find a way to free you from that dress, Katniss. It might take a little while." Katniss manages to smile, too. Rue doesn't have any idea what to do with the numerous fastenings, and Katniss isn't much help. They manage to take off the dress after nearly ten minutes, though, and the hoop and the petticoat and the corset follow, and Katniss collapses on the bed.

She takes a few deep breaths. She is about to declare that she dare not let herself be caught in that contraption a second time, but she stops even as the words are on her tongue. She must wear it all unless she wants to end up with a bullet in her head. She sits up on her elbows, looking at Rue.

"Rue, do you know what is it Mr. Mellark actually did for the Confederacy?"

"No," Rue murmurs, "I don't know what he does. Or — or did." She focuses at the bedspread.

"Or does," Katniss insists gently. "I shouldn't have said did. It was insensitive of me."

"It was the truth," Rue whispers. "It's been over a year now that he hasn't written. A whole year. And I don't know what he did for the Confederacy, but it wasn't simply fight. He did something else. Something special. And it must've cost him his life." Her shoulders seem to curl inward.

Katniss reaches out and pulls Rue into her arms. "He loved you so much," she says, the only words she can think that might possibly be some small comfort. He was the only family Rue had.

"He loved _you_ so much," Rue whispers. Katniss doesn't know how to reply, so she only cradles Rue closer, and they sit together, quiet, too many terrible thoughts keeping company with them.

Katniss doesn't sleep much that night. The next morning, Effie pulls the sheets right off the bed.

"I simply adore the early morning time," Effie exclaims, "another fresh day about to start!"

"Bully for you," Katniss mutters, even as servants touch her arms, pull her up, and she spies a new dress ready for her, the curling iron over the fire. At least they don't expect her to take another bath.

General Crane invites Katniss and Madge to walk with him around town, and Katniss knows she isn't allowed to refuse. She links arms with Madge, accepts the pink parasol handed to her, and allows a heartless man to lead her around town as if they were in a parade, Confederate soldiers that littler the streets tipping their hats to Katniss everywhere she looks. As they reach the outskirts and start to turn back, she sees a slave from the Capitol, except he doesn't belong to the Capitol.

General Boggs. He belongs to General Boggs. Katniss frowns, and she presses closer to Madge.

If she is forced to endure this, at least she is not alone; she can count on Rue and on Madge.

But three days later Madge tells her that isn't the case. "My mother," Madge says, "her condition is even worse, Katniss. My father doesn't think she will live to see the winter. I need to be with her."

Katniss doesn't know what to say. She can't deny Madge that.

"But you are still welcome at the Capitol," Madge adds quickly, "you must know that. My aunt does not expect you to leave, not at all. She would be dismayed at the suggestion, in fact. She is already so upset that I am to leave." She pauses. "If you need me to stay, Katniss, I can —"

"No," Katniss says, shaking her head. "No, of course not. Be with your mother. But be safe, too, Madge. Home isn't what it was when you left. The war is there, too." Madge nods, and she hugs Katniss suddenly, startling her, but Katniss slowly returns the embrace from her oldest friend.

The next evening, Madge hands her the small broach. "The first time I spent a summer with my aunt, when I was just a little girl, I was so sad to leave, and she bought me this so I would never forget my time in Winchester. I want you to have it." She smiles, closes Katniss's hand around it.

Katniss tries to refuse, saying her aunt wouldn't like Katniss to take a gift meant for Madge, but Madge insists. "I will like knowing that you possess a small reminder that you are loved, Katniss."

And she smoothes her hands along the collar that Katniss wears, pinning on the small bird broach.

She takes a train from town early the following morning, accompanied by two Confederate soldiers, and Katniss feels the hotel shrink around her, enclosing her, trapping her. The Capitol is on edge, everyone walking on tiptoes around the entitled Confederates who peacock about.

She can no longer count on Madge to help her through dinner, and two new girls start to attend, Confederate wives, pretty, blonde girls with pearls on their necks, perfectly pink cheeks, smiles that don't reach their eyes. Mrs. Abernathy tries her best to make conversation with them both.

"Glimmer, is it? What an _interesting_ name!" She smiles her best. A haughty Glimmer only nods.

Katniss wants to help Mrs. Abernathy, but she knows proper conversation isn't her strong suit.

She finds as many ways to fill her time away from soldiers as she can; trying to tend to her flowers even in ridiculous dresses, sneaking away to the kitchens for lunch with Rue, hiding in the library with books so preferable to people. And she thinks endlessly about what Mr. Abernathy said.

She tells Rue her thoughts at lunch on Sunday. She knows it would be naive to believe that Union soldiers are not as awful as the Confederates are, she whispers, but at least the Union fights for a righteous cause. They speak in whispers, because they _always_ speak in whispers in the Capitol.

"I have nightmares every night, Rue," Katniss tells her, "nightmares about that poor girl."

"We only need to stay strong," Rue says, encouraging. "The Union shall win in the end."

"Yes," Katniss says, staring at the table, "because we shall help them. We _will_ help them."

Her thoughts are too many places at once, flickering from the way Seneca Crane smiles to words about an occupied valley to a hulking black man disappearing into a house to what Gale quietly, sadly said. Gale was right. A person must pick a side. "This war is our war, too, Rue," she says.

Her resolve solidifies with each passing moment.

"Katniss," Rue says, forehead creased.

Madge isn't here. Katniss needn't worry about Madge. And Prim is safe with Gale.

She knows what happened to that girl should frighten her, and it does. But it also infuriates her.

She doesn't sleep at all that night. As soon as the sun starts to rise, she dresses quickly and quietly, forgoing all that ridiculous finery, and she hurries as quietly as she can up silent, empty stairs to the parlor on the fourth floor, the parlor General Crane uses. The doors are shut. She presses her ear to one. She can hear only silence. She looks over her shoulder, and she slowly, silently opens a door.

The room is empty, shadowy from the morning light that just peaks out from around the drapery.

She spots a desk before the window, and she shuts the door just as slowly, silently, and crosses the room in quick strides. The desk is littered with papers in untidy stacks, and she doesn't even know what it is she ought to try to find. She opens a slit the curtain, lets in more light, and starts to sift through the papers. And finally she finds a marked map, and her heart starts to beat still faster.

She doesn't understand what it shows, but the long lines must be troop movements, and it must be important. If she takes it, though, they might abandon whatever plans the map shows, just in case.

Or they might catch her, shoot her in the head, and take the map from her vest.

She suppresses a shudder.

She searches through more papers. The bottom desk drawer holds more maps, these unmarked, and she smiles a little, hands trembling with too many emotions. She looks at the door. She needs to be quick; every moment that passes is a moment that risks her life. She finds a quill, carefully uncorks the inkbottle from the second drawer, and traces the markings from one map to the other.

It isn't her best job, but it passes along the information. She sees cramped writing beneath the map, orders about three regiments, she reads, but she doesn't try to process what it actually says as she carefully copies it out. And she is almost finished when voices suddenly sound outside the door.

The voices are louder by the second, coming closer, coming to the parlor.

She stumbles back, to the window, and she clutches her copied map to her chest, tearing the curtains open, hiding behind them, and tearing them closed. She waits. She doesn't breathe. Her hands tremble. The door opens, and heavy footsteps cross. She doesn't dare tilt her head to see if her own feet show, not when it might rustle the curtain. She can only pray her feet are hidden.

A man mutters under his breath. She can hear papers rustle. The floor creaks. "Damn ink pot," he mutters, and she squeezes her eyes shut when she recognizes his voice. Crane. And he surely knows someone is in the room, hiding, having just tried to steal secret information. The heavy curtain makes her cheek itch, the window glass too cold against her back, her hair tickling her neck in a terrible way, her every sense highlighted, panic rising and rising. She didn't even close the inkbottle. He shall kill her. But he mutters something more, and his heavy footsteps cross the room.

He slams the door shut. The room is quiet. She is afraid to move, but she must.

She steps out from the curtain. What if he returns? She folds her copied map, hiding it in her skirts, and stumbles to the door, touching the handle cautiously. She presses her ear close. She can't hear anyone. If they're right outside, however, she will have no excuse and no escape. She will be dead.

But she really cannot hear anyone. She eases open the door. The hallway is empty. She steps out, shuts the door, and tries to walk down the hallway calmly, thinking up excuses if anyone sees her.

At the stairs, she realizes that ink stains her fingers. If Seneca Crane sees —

She bites her tongue until she draws blood, and she doesn't race up the stairs. She reaches her room, she opens the door, she walks in, she shuts the door. She locks it. Everything is quiet.

She sinks to the ground, clutching back a sob with her mouth, taking slow breaths. She doesn't know how long she sits, but she finally reminds herself that the servants will arrive to help her dress soon, and she stands. She undresses first, folding away her clothing so she is left in her underclothes, as if this were any morning, as if she hadn't already been awake and nearly killed.

She finds the inkbottle in the bedside table next, and she writes a letter to Madge.

That will excuse the stains on her fingers at least, but she needs to finish what she started, too. She checks over her terribly traced map before she turns it over with unsteady hands to write the note.

_General Boggs, I know you have little reason to believe any word from me might be genuine, but I write with information to help the Union. I am a Virginian, but my heart remains always with the Union, and I detest those who tore our country asunder. A traced map with copied directions for several regiment directions is enclosed. I hope this information serves you well. Katniss Mellark._

She folds it carefully until it can hide in her palm, and she tucks it under her pillow.

She tries to call as little attention to herself throughout the day as she can, and no one treats her with any suspicion. She works outside that afternoon, and Rue helps for an hour. At a whisper, Katniss succinctly explains what she did. "And what will you do with it?" Rue whispers, anxious.

"I saw Thresh," Katniss murmurs. "And he can surely pass the map onto his master."

"Is General Boggs still in town?" Rue asks.

Katniss shakes her head. "I don't know." She keeps her eyes on her work.

"Katniss, you should know that Thresh isn't really his slave." Her words startle Katniss, but Rue doesn't look up from her own work as she continues. "I realized early on that you didn't recognize him, so I let him keep his secret. But he is from home, Katniss. He worked at the printing press that burned down right when the Confederates arrived. I can only imagine he was forced to flee."

"And General Boggs took him under his wing, helped him," Katniss murmurs, understanding.

Rue nods. "I only spoke with Thresh once, but he said about as much."

"Well," Katniss says, "whether or not Boggs is in town, Thresh is. He will somehow be able to deliver any information, I'm sure." And she can't help but suspect that General Boggs _is_ in town, trapped, forced to hide, unable to escape when the Confederates completely surround Winchester.

She can barely sleep that night, either, and she dresses even earlier the next morning. This time she heads down the stairs and out through the kitchens. She keeps her head high as she walks down the street, as if this does not stray from the ordinary. But her heart beats wildly inside her, terrified.

The house with the broken fence seems somehow ominous, but she circles around to the backyard.

This is the right house, she is certain; she can remember the moment exactly when she saw it, when she saw him, a silly pink parasol in her hand, Madge pressed against her, all the terror still so new.

She raps on the back screen door. It takes a moment, but a hulking man peaks out from behind the door, and she doesn't miss the musket muzzle subtly pointed at her midsection. "What?" he asks.

She is relieved that she _did_ pick the right house, but her job is still not finished yet.

"Mr. Thresh," she murmurs, stepping closer. "It is I, Katniss Mellark, from the Capitol."

The door opens a little wider. "What is it, Mrs. Mellark?"

She thrusts the letter at him. "To whom it may concern." She doesn't wait for him to respond; she turns on her heel and hurries from the yard, back to the street. She wants to stop, to lean against the nearest wall, to take a few deep breaths, but she would draw far too much attention if she did.

Instead, she forces impassivity onto her face, and she walks at an even clip back to the hotel.

She walks through the back, and Rue smiles when she sees Katniss. The smile doesn't entirely reach her eyes, however. "I wanted to stretch my legs," Katniss says brightly, unstrapping her hat. She pauses, no one else turns her way, and she leans a little closer to Rue. "And deliver a letter."

Rue nods, and Katniss returns to her room, to wash away any evidence. She is safe. She can only hope that Boggs uses her information, that he doesn't suspect it might be a trap. She cannot offer him any reassurance. This is the best she can do, and it is done. She nods to herself, and she puts on a perfectly calm, mindless smile before she walks downstairs to meet the others for breakfast.

It is only two days before she hears from Thresh.

She is outside, pretending to prune flowers that receive far too much attention.

The hulking shadow makes her tense, but she steadies her ridiculously floppy hat with her hand and looks at the man, and she almost laughs with relief. "Mrs. Mellark," he says, voice low, "you need a hand to pull that tree from the ground?" He nods at the small sapling trunk she had planted only yesterday, but she can always plant another. She tries to make her face impassive as she nods.

Thresh bends down, hands fisting around the sapling.

"You are a bold and a brave lady, Mrs. Mellark," he says, voice somehow lower, quieter, "but you are a foolish lady, too, to sign your name to a letter and to deliver it yourself." He doesn't look at her, but she nods, not sure what she can say. "My master thanks you for your assistance," he says.

"I am happy to have helped," she replies lightly.

"If you would like to assist my master more, it would be appreciated," he continues. "You can have your slave take the eggs to me. If it turns out that the eggs are cracked on the bottom, he will not be upset." He looks at her, and she nods, understanding. They are alone at this moment, but they cannot be sure what might happen in the next, and Thresh is right to be so cautious and careful.

He easily yanks out the sapling. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Mellark."

"Thank you," she murmurs, and she doesn't let herself watch him walk off.

She looks around, wondering if anyone saw. She should say something at dinner tonight, perhaps that a nasty unwanted sapling caused her trouble, but a slave offered to tear it out for her. And she can even add that she doesn't understand how anyone can think the slaves do not wish to serve their masters, that they are not happy in their situation. Absurd, she can call it. Crane will love it.

He does, completely, and she knows her part in all this can be over at this moment if she wants.

But this is her war, too, and this is her battle to fight.

* * *

><p>The entire hotel is always so quiet in that hour right before sunrise, and Katniss uses that hour.<p>

Rue helps prepare food, and she always manages to crack the eggs so only the very bottom is broken. She washes them out, and she helps Katniss hide papers, precariously copied maps, information she overhears and writes out, inside the emptied eggshells. She becomes better at keeping her ears open, even undertaking walks with General Crane, even making conversation with Glimmer and Clove, even forcing herself to cross the lobby when Cato stands by the steps.

He introduces himself, kissing her knuckles, and winks at her when he sees her wedding band.

Isn't he married to that awful girl Clove? Why would he _wink_ at her?

She wants to spit in his face. She smiles, turns her head down, demure, and walks out.

The Confederacy celebrates a month in Winchester, and Rue returns from an egg delivery with fresh strawberries. Katniss is in the kitchen at the time. She watches Rue slyly slip a small, folded paper from among the strawberries and into her skirt. She hands it to Katniss later that afternoon.

It is written in riddles, but Katniss understands that Boggs wants a specific map.

She burns the note over a candle that night, hardly sleeps, and wakes early, just as always, dressing in her old clothes, quick and quiet. She braids her hair, and she slips out. She is more confident in her step, less anxious as she pulls open the parlor door, sneaks inside, and silently shuts the door.

She is still afraid, unable to think quite properly as long as she stands in the parlor, a room that Crane has so clearly made his, with his jacket thrown over the sofa, his musket propped up against the wall, his cigar casings littered across the table. It takes a few minutes longer than she likes, her heart starting to thump too fast, lodged in her throat, making it hard to breathe, but she finds it.

She traces the map onto a blank one quickly, puts the original away, and hurries to the door. She closes it behind her, and she turns around.

"Oh, my, my, Mrs. Mellark," Glimmer says, eyes too bright.

All the air in the room seems to disappear, and Katniss fights not to gasp.

She curls her hand around the map in her pocket, panic blinding all thoughts from her mind.

Glimmer steps closer, her pale violet dress almost shimmering in the sunrise that streams in from the windows, her curls bright gold, dancing as she takes another step to Katniss. "I do not believe you are supposed to be in that parlor," she says, and Katniss searches desperately for an excuse.

"I was lost," she says at last.

Glimmer chuckles. "Is that so?"

"I was not aware it was a crime to be lost," Katniss says, voice a little stronger. She straightens.

"I should have known, really," Glimmer muses calmly, "with all your ill manners, with that awful scowl. I should have known you were a spy. Someone like _you_ doesn't belong in the Capitol."

"I take that as compliment," Katniss replies, her nails digging into her palm.

"Yes, you would," Glimmer says. She tilts her head, eyes raking over Katniss. "Oh, I hope it is Cato who kills you. He always loves to kill the filthy little traitors like you. Or maybe I should serve my country, kill you myself." She laughs a little to herself, and Katniss sees Rue.

Just down the hall.

Rue motions furiously at her, thrusting her arm forward, and Katniss understands.

It happens in an instant. Katniss pulls the map from her pocket, shoves it at Glimmer, who takes it with a creased brow but a smirk still playing on her lips, and she unfolds it, and General Crane fires his revolver. Katniss watches the blood bloom across the shimmering purple dress, and Glimmer sinks to the ground, her mouth round, her face paling. She slumps against the wall.

General Crane lowers his revolver, his mouth a hard line as he stares, eyes black, at Glimmer.

"I wasn't — I didn't —" she starts, but she can't talk, and blood bubbles at her lips.

"I suppose you thought you were such a little successful spy for the Confederacy," Crane spits coldly, "that you could easily spy for the Union, too, didn't you? You might have been able to fool all those bumbling hayseed Unionists, but you cannot fool _me,_ you fucking little turncoat!"

And he fires another shot, right into her throat. The blood splashes down, splattering the map.

Katniss feels her legs tremble at the sight, but suddenly Crane turns to her, and she watches in shock as his whole face softens. "I am sorry you were forced to witness that, Mrs. Mellark. It is terrible that traitors like that would involve innocent young ladies such as yourself in the war."

Katniss tries to nod, to smile, to do something, but she can only stare.

Crane reaches forward, clasping her hand. "But, as sorry as I am, I must express my deepest gratitude as well, my dear. If you had not been so worried that your petunias would die in the summer heat, I cannot imagine what evil this woman would have helped the Union commit. You did the Confederacy an exceptional service, Mrs. Mellark." He bows his head for a moment.

"You are too kind, General Crane," Katniss murmurs.

He releases her hand.

She refuses to look at Glimmer. "I think I might need to lay down," she whispers.

"Yes, of course, of course," Crane says. "You must be so shaken. Come. I shall walk you. Take my arm, my dear." He links their arms. She thinks she might be sick. He would probably excuse it if she were. But she manages to hold herself together as they walk down the stairs and to her room, with Rue silently at their heels. Crane holds open the door for her and tells her he shall send for tea.

Rue closes the door, and she helps Katniss sit on the bed. "I'm so sorry, Katniss," she says. "I —"

Katniss shakes her head, and she moves to the door, listening. But Crane isn't in the hall. No. He isn't suspicious. She is safe. She turns around. "I cannot imagine what would've happened if you hadn't — what did you say to Crane? How did you know to fetch him?" She owes Rue her life.

It isn't her first debt to the small woman.

"I always try to keep look out when you sneak into the parlor," Rue whispers, "and every other time people passed close by, I distracted them. But you left earlier this morning, and I arrived too late. I watched Glimmer watch _you_ walk inside, and I — I didn't know what else to do. I ran to where Crane slept, and I woke him, and I told him that we went out early this morning to check on your flowers only to run across Glimmer outside his parlor. He believed me. He believed you."

"Yes," Katniss says. "Oh, Rue. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Nor I without you," Rue says, and she takes Katniss by the hand, squeezing softly.

"We need to escape this hotel," Katniss says. "It isn't enough simply not to spy. We aren't safe under the same room as Seneca Crane. He is _insane_, Rue. We need to escape as soon as we can."

Rue nods. "Yes. Anywhere else would be safer. We can run north."

A servant knocks on the door, surely with tea. Rue answers the door, and the tea does calm Katniss. It is mint, her favorite. She sucks on the leaves carelessly wasted for decoration, and she tries to plan. But her mind continually flickers back to Boggs. He specifically asked for that map.

It could influence a major battle should the Union possess it.

"Rue," Katniss murmurs, "pack what we need whenever you can this afternoon. Tonight, after everyone else is in bed, I'll sneak back to the parlor, take the map for Boggs, and we can run to his house to drop it off before we leave town. Thresh might even know where we might head."

Rue nods.

Katniss is on edge the entire day, but she knows Crane will excuse her odd manner, and he tortures her throughout dinner with sympathetic, fatherly smiles. She notices after dinner that the petunias are wilted. She almost wants to laugh at that. She doesn't change into her nightclothes that night.

She puts her hair in a braid, dresses in travel clothes, and waits.

As soon as she hears the church bells chime three, she tiptoes from her room upstairs to the parlor. She is forced to light the small gas lamp in the room, which makes her beyond nervous. It feels as if she lights an invitation to find her, to shoot her in the head or the back or the throat, to kill her.

She is even more anxious than the very first time she so recklessly did this.

She shifts through the papers, trying to find the map. The desk seems even more unorganized than usual, and Katniss looks at the door repeatedly. If she can only find the map, she needn't even bother to trace it out a second time; she can simply take it, and they can be free from all the terror.

It won't matter if anyone knows she is the real spy once she and Rue have fled.

She looks to the door. She pulls open the top desk drawer, and a map is the first paper. Her hands tremble as she tries to read the cramped writing that marks it with the little light, but as best she can tell this is the right map; it looks familiar, and the stains on it could be ink or could be blood. Either way, she cannot risk searching any further.

She starts to shut the drawer, ready to run, when she sees the name.

The familiarity makes it stand out on the page, turns the letters bolder and blacker in her mind, and the world tilts under her. Why is her name written on a list in this parlor? She looks at the door. She snatches up the paper. And her heart skips a beat as she reads it, as she slowly starts to —

But she can only stare, uncomprehending. This isn't possible, not at all, yet —

It shouldn't surprise her. This list doesn't involve her. The name it includes isn't really hers; her name is a borrowed name, a name that belongs to a man she believes is dead. But he isn't dead.

Because the list is for soldiers expected to arrive in Winchester in a week, and the name second to the top, scrawled carelessly, as if it doesn't matter, as if it doesn't steal her breath from her chest —

1st Lieut. Peeta Mellark.

**tbc.**


	4. Chapter 4

She shoves the list back into the drawer, and she pulls out the blank maps from the bottom drawer. Her hands shake so terribly as she traces the map that she wonders if her attempt is a waste, but Boggs wants this map, and she can't simply steal the original, because she can't leave the Capitol.

It takes so terribly long, but she manages to do it, and she switches off the gas lamp.

She runs through the dark, empty hallways to the stairs, her mind far too jumbled.

Rue stands from the bed when Katniss stumbles into the room. "Katniss, I don't think we can leave," Rue says, her voice a low, urgent whisper. "I've checked out the window, and soldiers are absolutely _everywhere_. We didn't think about that. It would be better to escape during the day, when no one would think to question us should we want to take a walk out in the streets. And if we leave right after breakfast, we'll have the entire day to travel as far as we can before —"

"No," Katniss says, "we can't leave at all." She sinks down against the wall.

"Why not? What happened?" Rue asks, and Katniss almost smiles when she realizes how much this news will mean to Rue. "Katniss, what is it? Did someone see you, or —?" Her eyes are wide.

"Mr. Mellark is alive, Rue," Katniss says. "Peeta is alive. And he's on his way to Winchester."

Rue stares at her. "What?" she whispers.

"I don't know how or what it means or — or anything about it, but there was a list in the desk, Rue. Soldiers expected to arrive next week. And he was right at the top. First Lieutenant. Peeta Mellark."

Rue lets out a little breath, clapping her hand to her mouth, and tears well in her eyes. "Is it our Mr. Mellark? It must be him. Who else has that name? Nobody. Oh, my." She laughs a little and looks at Katniss.

"This means when can't leave," Katniss says. "And I don't say that because I know you want to see him. I say it because — because if we leave, Crane will know no without a doubt that we're the spies, and what do you think he'll do when my supposed _husband_ arrives?" She shakes her head. "And I'm certain that, as a lieutenant, he'll be invited to stay at the Capitol with the other officers."

"And he won't even be able to make up an excuse, because he doesn't even know —"

"That he has a wife?" Katniss says. "No, he doesn't. If we leave, we as good as kill him."

"So we must stay," Rue says. "And we must be the first to greet him, so that we can explain."

Katniss nods. She almost asks if they can trust Peeta, but she stops herself. They can. They must.

"I should return to the kitchens," Rue says. She reaches forward to take Katniss's hand. "But this is good. I know you wanted to run, and we certainly aren't safe here, but this is good. This is good."

Katniss nods, squeezes Rue's hand, and lets Rue slip off into the dark hall.

She undresses slowly, hiding her copied map in her traveling cloak. She can't believe this. How can he still be alive? If he is, why hasn't he written Rue in a year? Her first thought is that perhaps he was injured, but that can't be the case. He would be sent home, not simply to fight elsewhere.

What if he was captured? What if he was in a prison camp? She shudders at the thought.

But she would know if the Confederates successfully raided a prison camp. No, that isn't it.

Does it have to do with whatever important, secret work he does? Katniss is almost tempted to talk to Mr. Abernathy. If she could corner him, explain that she doesn't have any idea what work it is Peeta does, but she needs to do — that could work, right? But, no, she can't trust Mr. Abernathy.

And how will Peeta react when he arrives to find himself with a wife? How will she explain it?

Rue trusts him, and he trusts Rue. He will understand if Rue explains it. He won't betray them. But he might be upset. What if news that a Mrs. Peeta Mellark exists has reached his family and his friends back home? Will he be upset? Her mind flickers for an instant to what Madge said when she first took his name, that he wouldn't mind at all, and her mind rests on what Rue once told her.

He loves her, Rue said. But that is ridiculous. She is indebted to Mr. Mellark. Their relationship extends only that far. It certainly isn't in any way romantic, no matter what anyone else thinks. She can only hope that he remains as kind as she knows him to be, that he helps protect her secret.

And, of course, this is all if she and Rue can be the first to approach him when he arrives.

What happens if it is someone else? What if Cato blithely tells Peeta that his wife will be happy to see him, and Peeta replies with a frown, asking _what wife_? Her heart pounds at the very thought.

She needs to sleep. She will send Rue with the copied map to Thresh as soon as the sun rises. And she will continue to keep up appearances around the Capitol until the soldiers arrive next Monday.

She doesn't sleep that night. She simply can't. Her mouth tastes like cotton, and her limbs move too slowly as she dresses, but she heads down to the kitchens regardless. Rue is ready with an egg carton. Katniss carefully slips her copied map into an emptied eggshell. Rue leaves, eggs in hand.

Katniss presses her palms into her eyes, overwhelmed.

She needs to work out a plan, a way to _assure_ that either she or Rue is first to talk to Peeta. She can worry about how he reacts after she makes sure the news is delivered well. She needs to find out when exactly on Monday the soldiers arrive in Winchester, and she needs to find out when the officers will arrive at the Capitol. If she can find a way to pull him aside the moment he walks in —

She needs to talk to Mr. Abernathy; he will surely know when the soldiers are expected.

The servants all watch her carefully as she leaves the kitchen, and she knows they aren't sure how to treat her, whether to trust her, whether to consider her a friend. And she honestly doesn't know what to tell them, but she knows the less they have to do with her, the better off they will likely be.

She isn't sure where Mr. Abernathy spends his mornings, but his quarters are on the second landing. She barely even steps foot in the lobby, however, before she spots him, rolling on the balls of his feet, thumbs hooked in his vest pockets, watching the door, waiting for someone.

She frowns, but she starts towards him, opening her mouth to call out.

A hand touches her arm. "Wait," a man whispers.

Her whips around to see a tall, thin, dark man, and he puts a finger to his lips. She nods after a moment, no reason _not_ to trust him, and she looks back at Mr. Abernathy, a frown hidden in his lined face. Another minute, and the hotel porters open the front doors for several officers.

Her breath catches, and Katniss searches their faces for Peeta, a week early.

But he isn't among them, and her eyes quickly stick on the small, slim man who walks at the front, approaching Mr. Abernathy with a calm, blank face. He walks as if he is important, enough stripes on his uniform to confirm it, clearly the man for whom Mr. Abernathy waited. "General," Mr. Abernathy greets, nodding his head, and the man murmurs something Katniss can't hear before he starts towards the stairs, Mr. Abernathy beside him and the other officers trailing behind.

"That is General Coriolanus Snow."

Katniss turns to the man beside her, and he offers a small smile. "And is he someone important?"

"Very," the man replies. "He isn't someone you want to cross."

"And what about you, sir?" Katniss asks.

He smiles, eyes bright. "I can be pretty tough with a spool of thread," he says, and he holds out his hand. "Cinna James." She takes his hand, and the kiss he presses to her knuckles is light and dry.

"Katniss Mellark," she replies.

"I thought so," he says. "I recognized your gown." He nods at her dress. "I made that."

"I beg your pardon," she says, "you made my dress?"

He nods. "Mrs. Abernathy ordered a dozen dresses from me for a lady who had come to stay with her at the Capitol, a Mrs. Peeta Mellark. I must admit, I thought you would be older, as she requested dresses as austere and unassuming as possible. But it seems you are simply sensible."

Katniss thinks she might like Cinna James. "I do appreciate simplicity," she admits.

He smiles. "Not much for high-faluting dress, then?"

"No, sir," she replies, her own smile peaking out.

"Mr. James!" Mrs. Abernathy cries, coming down the stairs. "You are early! Oh, dear, I am terribly sorry! I meant to meet your train, Mr. James, I swear it!" She looks dismayed with herself.

He chuckles. "You are far too apologetic, Mrs. Abernathy. I am no stranger to Winchester. There was no need to meet me at the train." Before she can protest, he continues, smiling. "You look as wonderful as ever. Tell me, who designed that beautiful dress?"

"Oh," Mrs. Abernathy says, giggling a little, "_stop_ it, you old joker!" She looks at Katniss. "And I see you've already met my dear Mrs. Mellark! I adore this woman, Mr. James. I absolutely _adore_ her, oh, yes, I most certainly do! I wish I could keep her with me at the Capitol forever!" She beams, always as sweet as honey. Katniss can only smile, embarrassed, at an amused Mr. James.

"How is Mr. Abernathy?" Mr. James asks. "Well, I hope?"

"Oh, yes, fit as a fiddle," Mrs. Abernathy says, "just as he always is, fit as a fiddle." But her smile isn't quite so bright, and she looks across the lobby to the ubiquitous Confederate guards.

Mr. James touches her arm. "General Snow arrived on my train." His words are almost apologetic, yet a question lingers as well. "The situation in Winchester is that bad?" he asks, voice a murmur.

"Yes, I'm afraid," Mrs. Abernathy whispers. Her eyes flicker to Katniss. "Oh, but it is better now that you've arrived! Mrs. Mellark, did Mr. James tell you that he is to stay at the Capitol while he is in town? He wanted to pay, but I told him, I said, oh, no, sir, under no circumstances shall I accept a penny from you! And he offered instead to pay me in fashion advice — a right darling, isn't he?"

And Mrs. Abernathy hooks arms with Katniss and Mr. James both, leading them towards the stairs, and, oh, Mr. Abernathy said she couldn't waste his money on hats if she didn't already have the dresses with which to wear them, so Mr. James must accompany her to the hat shop, and —

Katniss wants to ask more about this General Snow, but she doubts they would answer her.

She wishes she had asked nonetheless when she arrives at dinner to find the table crowded with not only Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy, Cato, Clove, and General Crane, the usuals, but also half a dozen officers, including General Snow, white rose pinned to his uniform, his eyes like a snake's.

As luck would have it, however, a few minutes into the meal Mrs. Abernathy smiles brightly, looks right at General Snow, and asks how long they can expect to enjoy his company at the hotel.

"I'm afraid not long, Mrs. Abernathy," he replies. "I am expected elsewhere."

"Oh, but surely you'll still be with us when the troops from South Carolina arrive?" she asks. "I'm sure they would love to see you! Mr. Abernathy always says a visit from a leader is the best ration a man might offer his troops, isn't that right, dear?" She smiles at Mr. Abernathy, who only grunts.

"Yes, Mr. Abernathy is right," a slim, wiry officers says, "but we're expected in —"

Snow looks at him, eyes sharp, and the man falters.

And Katniss looks at Mr. Abernathy, who actually meets her gaze, a warning in his eyes.

She doesn't understand, but suddenly Snow seems more dangerous than she could've imagined.

"Mrs. Ableman," Snow says, looking at Clove, "I am told you play the piano exceptionally well."

Clove smiles, expression like a smug cat, and she promises to play for all the officers after dinner. Katniss thinks she would rather listen to Buttercup play, and she manages to find an excuse to duck out when dinner is finished, rather than accompany everyone else to the first landing parlor.

She makes her way to the kitchens, where Rue waits with a note from Boggs.

"Another request?" she whispers, uncertain. They need to call as little attention to themselves as possible. Rue only nods, eyes apologetic, and Katniss accepts the note. She doesn't read it until she is in her room for the night. It simply asks her for whatever information she can find about Chattanooga.

The last map she traced was for Chattanooga, wasn't it? She doesn't even know where that is.

Her mind flickers to Peeta, who is apparently on his way from South Carolina. Or is he in a South Carolinian regiment? It doesn't matter. She needs to focus on his arrival in six days rather than on General Snow or requests from Boggs or how Peeta managed to stay alive but not to write.

* * *

><p>Marvel stares murderously at his cards. "I'm out." And his eyes snap to John, who only continues to suck on his plug, smirking at Marvel. "Don't look so blamed smug, neither, you fucking Jew."<p>

Peeta tosses another quarter onto the pile. Marvel sends him a filthy look. Peeta spits out his chew.

Arthur starts to deal the third set. "I hate this fucking hill," Marvel declares, leaning back in his seat. "Don't see why we we're waiting to march on Winchester." He steals the jug from Nick, and he grins wolfishly at them all. "Got me some quim waiting, after all." John chuckles and spits.

"Aren't you married?" Peeta asks, keeping his voice disinterested as he looks at his third card.

He needs to fold.

"Ain't that the point?" Marvel replies. "Only reason to marry some twat." He offers the jug to Peeta, who waves him off. If he wanted to drink turpentine, he would at least find a jug that hadn't been touched by the man who just called his own wife a whore. "Always the nancy boy, Mellark."

"I'm out," Peeta says.

"Me, too," Nick adds.

"Last I checked," Arthur says, tossing a quarter onto the table before he starts to deal the fourth round, he and John the only two players left, "that nancy boy saved your life twice in the last year."

"Yes, our beloved Lieutenant is a real hero," Marvel says, "heart and soul devoted to the Confederacy, never even bothers to write home to a girl. But, oh, you gotcha yourself one, don't cha, Lover Boy? Heard you mumble her name in her sleep. What's it, Johnny, 'member? It's Katie, right? Or is it Kate? She your girl? Or you just like to look at her? Tell us, Mellark, d'you even —"

"You are aware, aren't you, Corporal Davis," Peeta interrupts lightly, searching through his pocket for more tobacco, "that I'm your Lieutenant, and I could shoot you right now for insubordination?"

"Well, terrifying as a boat-licker like you is, I better light outta here, huh?" Marvel laughs, derisive.

Peeta ignores him. Arthur folds, John drags his loot towards him, and Nick starts to deal the next round. Peeta almost shakes his head, but he doesn't exactly have anything better to do. "So they gonna keep us in tents outside Winchester, too?" Arthur asks, spitting before he looks at Peeta.

"Nah, they've taken over some hotel," Peeta replies. "Some place called The Capitol." The lowest card is his, and he starts with a nickel. John tosses in a quarter, always too ready to raise the bets.

"My old woman says some drunk captain from the Mexican War owns the place," Marvel offers.

Peeta doesn't understand why Marvel _always_ needs to say something or other. He doesn't like to hate people, but on worse days he thinks that he wouldn't lose much sleep if he _did_ shoot Marvel. If ever he feels guilty about what he does, about the way he betrays John and Arthur and Nick and everybody in his company, all he needs to do is spend about five minutes with Marvel Davis.

It was Marvel who reported to General Snow that Harry Jackson was a Union spy.

And Snow not only put Jackson before a firing squad but also killed his wife and his two-year-old.

It still makes Peeta a little sick even simply to remember.

"They'll keep most men outside town, where Crane already keeps all his boys," Peeta explains, "but we'll be up in the hotel. And we'll be around for a while, too, to help Crane keep Winchester."

"How hard can it be to keep one cussed little town?" Nick asks.

Peeta shrugs. "Yankees are still strong around the whole place," he says, "or that's what I'm told."

The tent flaps rustle, and John easily shoves the moonshine jug beneath the table, but it's only Abraham Snyder who appears. "Guess what I just found out, boys!" he says, smirking, smug.

"We're playing five-card stud. You want in?" Nick asks. Peeta thinks maybe he should offer to let Abraham take his place. He needs to finish his next editorial before the information isn't any good.

But Abraham doesn't respond, his eyes on Marvel. "Looks like you ain't gonna have nobody waiting on you in Winchester, Davis," he says, somehow triumphant, a letter clutched in his hand.

"What the dickens you on about now, Abe?" Marvel replies, tossing a quarter in.

Abraham waves the letter in the air. "Just got word from old Matty Rochester, staying up in Winchester under Crane. You remember Matty." He looks almost feral as he stares at Marvel, and Peeta knows that he isn't the only person who hates Marvel. "Don't you remember him?"

"Yeah, I remember Matty," Marvel says. "Kid is a worse pie eater than Mellark. What of him?"

"He got lots to say in this last letter, he does," Abraham says. "Turns out there's plenty to talk about up in this fancy hotel where Crane is. Some sweet Southern lady caught some 'nother lady spying for them Yankees, and Crane shot the woman clean in the throat 'fore she could skedaddle."

"What the _devil_'s that got to do with me?" Marvel spits. But Peeta understands.

Abraham grins. "It was Glimmer Davis that got shot. Your wife."

"The fuck it was," Marvel breathes, head snapping up from his cards.

"Says it right here," Abraham says, holding up the letter. "Glimmer Davis. A Union spy. Dead."

Marvel is on his feet, hand reaching for his musket, propped against the table. John reaches the musket first, and Arthur holds out a steadying hand. "Don't cha go opening no ball now, Marv."

"I haven't even told you the best part yet," Abraham says. "About the woman who caught her."

"This is all bull," Marvel spits, his whole face contorted. "My wife spies for the _Confederates_, you damn cocksucker. The woman would hang herself before she'd ever spy for those bastard Yanks."

"That's not what Crane thought when a lady at the hotel caught her rooting through his desk. But you haven't asked me who it was yet. Come on, Davis. Wanna know who tattled on the missus?"

And his eyes flicker to Peeta.

"My wife ain't a fucking Union spy!" Marvel snarls, "and she ain't dead, neither!"

"Well, I'm just gonna tell you," Abraham says, almost gleeful. "You've always hated that everybody loves our Lieutenant Mellark, 'cluding the Captain. So you're really gonna love this. The woman that good as killed yours — "And he brandishes the letter. "— one Mrs. Peeta Mellark."

Peeta chokes on his chew.

"What?" Marvel hisses, and he easily snatches the letter from Abraham. His eyes run across the page for a moment, his gaze snap up to Peeta, and he abruptly shoves Abraham aside and stumbles out of the tent. But every eye in the tent is on a stunned Peeta, and after a moment Arthur speaks.

"So you _do_ got a wife, Peet. How come you've never told us?"

* * *

><p>"Effie, will the officers who arrive tomorrow come immediately to the hotel?"<p>

Effie only tuts. "We must compensate for your bosom as best we can, my dear," Effie tells her, "so shoulders back!" And she presses her hand to Katniss's lower back, forcing her to stand straighter.

"Effie," Katniss presses, "when the soldiers arrive tomorrow —"

"They'll set up camp outside the town, I would imagine," Effie says, arranging the curls she just put in Katniss's hair. "And the officers will oversee that before they arrive. But why does it matter? Are you excited to see all our lovely officers? Oh, my, Mrs. Mellark, and here I thought you were a taken woman! But, no, no, I'm only teasing!" And she swats Katniss lightly, giggling to herself.

"I simply wondered," Katniss says, wishing she hadn't asked. "I'm sure it'll cause a terrible fuss when they arrive," she adds, smacking Effie's hands when the older woman tries to pinch Katniss's cheeks, "and you know I'm not much for fusses. I would like to be as prepared as I can be, is all."

"You know what would help," Effie says, stepping back, her eyes bright.

"What?" Katniss asks, suspicious.

"If you greeted our officers with a hoop —"

"No, Effie," Katniss says, "_no_ hoop skirts. At all. You managed to force one on me once before, and you shan't do it a second time, let me assure you." She crosses her arms over her chest.

"But you look so _common_ without them!" Effie whines. "You might as well work in the kitchens!"

Katniss coughs to hide her snort.

"A girl as pretty as you, only one and twenty, and you won't even let me —"

"If you try to put me in another hoop skirt, Effie Trinket, I _will_ take up a job in the kitchens."

Effie looks aghast at the threat, and Katniss pats her shoulder. "I'm glad we understand each other."

She eats breakfast with Mrs. Abernathy, who invites Katniss to accompany her into town afterward with Mr. James. Katniss shakes her head. As much as she likes Mr. James, she isn't interested in a hat shop. She uses her flowers as an excuse, and she makes her way to the garden as soon as breakfast is finished. She can feel herself bake under the sun, a bright, blinding white, the moment she steps outside.

This summer is far too hot, even for a Virginian.

She forgot a hat, but she kneels down in the shade the small dogwood provides, her pinstripe dress billowing around her legs. She actually likes this dress, the soft material such a pretty orange, the cuffs more sensible than they usually are, the sleeves less restrictive. She sends a silent thanks to Mr. James, and she tries to prune her flowers.

She might need to fetch water for the poor plants.

But it is a lost cause, she suspects. The Winchester heat is simply too much for any flowers to handle. She pats her face dry with the ridiculous silk hanky from Effie, and she moves to her feet. She turns to return inside, perhaps to sneak to the kitchens for water, but she stops, startled.

General Snow stands with his back straight, his hands clasped behind his back, his face impassive.

But suddenly he smiles, stretching his puffy lips. "I am told you tend to this garden," he says. "Mrs. Mellark, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," she says, and she curtsies her best. "I have always loved to garden."

"I as well," he replies. "I possess a particular fondness for roses myself."

"They are certainly beautiful," Katniss says. It's quiet. She doesn't know what to do, if she should wait to be dismissed, if she should try to make conversation, if she should simply wait for him to indicate how she should act. His blank eyes are on her wilting, dying flowers, so she stares at them, too.

"I am told I should thank you, Mrs. Mellark," he murmurs, "for your service to our Confederacy."

"Such gratitude is unnecessary," Katniss says, twisting the hanky around her fingers, hidden in her skirt pocket. "I am only happy that my flowers led me to cross paths with the treacherous woman."

"Yes," Snow says, "indeed." He smiles at her for another short moment. "Tell me, Mrs. Mellark, from where do you hail? Your accent points to the west, I think, to the Appalachians, perhaps?"

She starts to answer, dangerous territory ahead, but she is spared when General Crane appears. Snow looks at him for a long moment before he turns back to Katniss, and she knows what he wants, is grateful for it. "I will leave you to admire the flowers, General Snow," she says, curtseying at General Crane before she makes her escape.

The door doesn't shut entirely behind her, however, and her heart stops when she realizes that, standing in the small, shadowy alcove a few feet from the door, hidden from view, she can hear every word the generals say. She can eavesdrop. She steps back, pressing herself to the wall.

"General —" Crane starts.

"I do not intend to stay any longer in Winchester, Seneca," Snow interrupts. "I am needed elsewhere. Winchester is _your_ responsibility, if you recall, and it is a responsibility you can handle, I trust?"

"It is, sir," Crane replies. "Worry not."

"I will most certainly worry," Snow says coldly, "I am not impressed with your work thus far, Seneca. I would not be in Winchester if I were. But perhaps you do not _understand_ our situation."

"I understand, sir," Crane says, "I do. It is simply that after Gettysburg —"

"Gettysburg," Snow spits. "Don't talk to me about _Gettysburg_." He pauses. "Let me make something very clear, Seneca. After Gettysburg, and with that _drunkard_ Grant in the west, this war is no longer a certain victory for the Confederacy. We cannot afford to let any Union sympathies thrive in a place as strategically important as _that_ difficult for you to understand?"

"No, sir," Crane says, voice small.

"Good," Snow says. It is quiet for a moment, and Katniss can easily imagine how anxious Crane is. "I am to leave for Chattanooga tomorrow," Snow finally continues, "but I shall return in a month. When I return, I expect to find every Unionist in Winchester, man, woman, and child, in the _ground_. That includes those in this hotel. I shall not let the Confederacy suffer any more losses because you are unable to keep secret information secret, Seneca." His voice is icy, dark, terrifying.

She almost pities Crane, as awful as he is.

"We have already dealt with the unfortunate —"

"No, Seneca, you have not. The cockroaches in this hotel are more numerous than you would like to think. Find them all, _kill_ them all, or, make no mistake, I will burn see all Winchester burn for it."

Katniss is afraid to breathe.

"That is all, Seneca."

She tries to fade into the wall when the door slams open suddenly, but Crane doesn't see her; he doesn't even look to the left and to her hidden alcove as he disappears down the hall. The door shuts behind him, but Katniss waits for a moment, worried that Snow will follow and realize she never truly left. She can't hide forever, though, and she moves, cautious, footsteps silent, past the door.

And she walks down the hall. She reaches the stairs, safety. She almost laughs at her own thought.

She is not safe anywhere in this hotel.

She hides away in the library, always empty, untouched by the soldiers. She picks a book to hold in her lap on the small chance anyone should abruptly appear, and she settles into her usual window seat, where she can see the street well, can see all the patrolling Confederate soldiers.

She needs to think. General Crane will surely become more vigilant than ever against traitors. But, more pressing, General Snow intends to head to Chattanooga. She still doesn't even know where that is, but she knows she risked her life to trace a map labeled with the name, and she knows that Boggs is desperate for as much information on it as she can possibly manage to provide for him.

If someone as important as Snow is on his way to Chattanooga, he must have information about it.

She tells herself not even to think it, yet this is it. This is her final opportunity to help the Union.

Peeta arrives tomorrow with the other soldiers, and that will be it. Even if she is able to speak to him first, or by some miracle Rue can, even if he agrees to keep her secret, she knows escape is their best option, lest they risk their lives or his any more. Her short time as a spy ends tonight.

What about at dinner?

It isn't too terribly long, and it is certainly riskier than sneaking in at night, but Snow won't expect it. Katniss can feign illness and find herself excused from the meal. No one will have reason to suspect a lie; after all, she is the woman who caught _another_ spy. And while Snow and Crane and their favorite officers are at a private dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy, Katniss can do it.

She can sneak into the suite where Snow stays. She can find out about Chattanooga. She can do it.

She finds Rue in the kitchens, peeling potatoes. "The fifth landing," she whispers, "where Snow stays, how well is it guarded?" Rue doesn't answer for a moment, but she looks at Katniss with wide, worried eyes. "Snow knows something about Chattanooga. I think I can find out what."

Rue hesitates. "I can take a rag, pretend to dust, see what the situation is," she murmurs at last.

Katniss retreats to the library. She finds an atlas, and she looks up Chattanooga. It's in the west.

Tennessee.

She looks out to the street, where light rain falls. A soldiers spits in the road. The door opens softly, and Rue appears, rag in hand, stance careful. But she quickly realizes that Katniss is alone, and she closes the door before she speaks. "A few guards are at the top of the main stairs," she says, "that's all. Snow stays in the largest suit, the one at the end of the hall with the double doors."

Katniss nods. "If I take the servant stairs, I can —"

"Why don't I do it?" Rue asks. "They won't suspect me, a slave. They won't even notice me!"

"No," Katniss says, "I can't let you risk it."

Those aren't the right words, and she can see the resolve form in Rue. "But you _can_ risk it? You're as terrible as Mr. Mellark! I'm just as able and as willing to risk my life for what is right, Katniss!"

"Yes," Katniss says, searching for the right excuse, "but I — I told Mr. Mellark that I would look after you, Rue." And it isn't even an excuse. It's a real reason. "He said you were a little sister to him, his family, and I agreed to look after you. I've already put you in enough danger, bringing you on the run with me, trapping you in this hotel with me, asking you to deliver information for me. When Mr. Mellark arrives tomorrow, I should be able to say I did at least _one_ thing to protect you. This is it."

Her jaw is clenched, but slowly Rue nods. "Fine. But tell me when you plan to sneak in. I can help with a distraction, or make sure that no one comes across you. I _need_ to help. You can't stop me."

She looks so fierce as she speaks, and it makes Katniss smile despite herself. "I won't try," Katniss tells her. "I think dinner is the perfect time. If you can tell Mrs. Abernathy I don't feel well, I'm sure I'll be excused, and I can use that time when I am certain that they'll all be in that dining room."

"And I'll find a reason to hover outside the dining room," Rue says, "and if anyone leaves unexpectedly, I'll find a way to warn you. Or would it be better if I were on the fifth landing?"

Katniss shakes her head. "I'm most worried about Snow and Crane. I can handle anyone else who might catch me." She isn't so sure about that, but she is sure that she would rather be caught and cornered by any other soldier, or even someone like that awful Clove.

Rue nods, before she surges forward suddenly to hug Katniss. "Be careful," she whispers.

Katniss closes her eyes for a moment. "I will."

But it is already past four, and she needs to set the stage. She heads back to her room and changes into her nightgown, letting her hair out, washing off all her makeup, and she splashes soap into her eyes to rim them in red. She slips into bed only minutes before Mrs. Abernathy appears. "Oh, my dear!" Mrs. Abernathy exclaims, and she tells Katniss she will send for tea and for a warm cloth.

"I think I need to rest, is all," Katniss murmurs. "I haven't slept well lately."

"Oh, you poor sweetheart," Mrs. Abernathy murmurs, stroking her hair. "It hasn't been easy to sleep in Winchester these past few weeks, has it? Oh, dear, dear. I will make excuses for you at dinner, how does that sound? And I shall come to check on you myself afterward, and I can bring you a little food if your stomach will allow it. How does that sound?" She smiles, eyes kind.

Katniss nods. "Thank you, Mrs. Abernathy."

"No need to thank me, dear, no need at all."

She stays to fuss over Katniss for another hour, leaving only for a few minutes to fetch the promised tea and warm cloth, but finally she leaves with several assurances that she will be back to check on Katniss as soon as dinner is finished. Katniss almost feels bad for her deception.

But better to deceive Mrs. Abernathy about her plan than to involve her in it.

She waits until she is certain they are all seated, dinner on their plates, before she dares to dress and to leave her room. She takes the narrower stairs meant for the servants, and she finds the fifth landing almost empty. Almost. She doesn't breathe as she hurries across the hall that opens to the main stairs and allows Katniss to be, for just a moment, visible to the two Confederate soldiers on guard.

She reaches the room at the far end of the hall unnoticed.

The doors open silently under her hands, and she slips unnoticed into the room, closing the doors just as quietly. Her own room truly is inelegant compared to this suite, but she doesn't have time to dwell. She moves immediately to the desk tucked into the corner, careful not to let herself be seen in the window, lest someone from the street notice her and become suspicious. The desk is much neater than Crane's.

It must be just as neat when Katniss is finished.

The first desk drawer revels nothing important; the second desk drawer holds only blank paper.

She starts to panic a little. How can she be sure he has any actual papers that explain Confederate plans for Chattanooga? He might not. And if he does, they must _say_ Chattanooga, else she cannot recognize them for what they are. She looks at the clock over the mantle. She cannot waste any time on worried thoughts. She cannot let panic handicap her at all. She slides open the next drawer.

And the door to the suite starts to open.

Her heart suddenly pounds so loudly she can't hear anything else. She slams the drawer shut, moves from behind the desk, tries to imagine any possible excuse, but it is too late. She is found out. General Snow stares straight at her, his face blank, but General Crane sneers, face contorted.

She is caught.

Rue didn't have time to warn Katniss. Or maybe she tried, and —

"Tell me, Mrs. Mellark," Crane snarls, spit flying from his lips, "are you here to tend to your flowers?"

She can't speak; her voice is trapped in her throat. She can only stand, rigid, trapped, soon dead.

Crane tears his revolver from his belt. "Answer me, you filthy fucking —!"

Snow raises his hand, and Crane is struck silent, but she can see the fumes fester in his face. Her eyes are drawn to Snow, however, whose awful black stare sends ice spiraling inside her stomach.

"It seems you've become complacent, Mrs. Mellark," he says, voice cold and calm, "under the impression that Crane is too _stupid_ to station guards outside his parlor. But I am no such fool, and I am aware when anyone who shouldn't be is in my quarters." His eyes narrow, and the ice spreads through her vines, reaching her fingertips and touching her toes and curling up around her heart.

Crane cocks his revolver.

"To whom do you report, Mrs. Mellark?" Snow asks, the words a low hiss.

She doesn't respond. She knows her own death is imminent, but she will not let Rue or Boggs or Thresh be killed as well. She can do at least that much. She can offer this last stand for the Union.

"I am not about to let General Crane kill you in a furious temper," Snow continues. "If you do not tell me what I ask, I can see that your death is long and torturous and painful, an _unending_ death."

She curls her toes, and she presses her lips together, and she doesn't let herself tremble.

"Shoot her knees," Snow says sharply. Crane doesn't hesitate to straighten his arm, the revolver pointed right at her, and Katniss starts to close her eyes, waiting to hear the revolver fire, but instead she only hears the door thrown open. Her eyes fly to the door, to the man who bursts in.

"Katniss!" he exclaims, desperate and delighted, his face so bright, a smile stretching from ear to ear, and he doesn't even notice a stunned Crane and a murderous Snow as he hurries across the room, straight to her, his hair falling in his face, his shirt untucked, his grey cap askew on his head.

And, as Crane and Snow only watch, an oblivious Peeta Mellark kisses her right on the mouth.

**tbc.**

a/n: This chapter is a little shorter — but I just had to end it at that moment! I realized (thanks to a review!) that I hadn't told you how old they are, so I tried to slip that in for you, but in case you missed it — Katniss and Peeta are twenty-one. Anyway, the next chapter is a really, really fun one, so I hope you're excited! It should be up within a week! :)


	5. Chapter 5

_a/n: I am so sorry for the long wait. It was definitely more than a week, and I apologize. I was insanely busy this week, my final week of classes, and this chapter was more difficult to write than I had imagined, and I simply bit off more than I could chew when I promised it in a week. But it is a longer chapter, probably my favorite yet, and that counts for something, right?_

* * *

><p>She is too shocked to react for a moment, but suddenly his hands are on her hips, and he hoists her onto the desk, sending papers flying. He peppers her face in happy kisses, laughing her name, and she can see Crane and Snow over his shoulder for an instant, but she doesn't know what to do.<p>

Her hands are on his shoulders, trying to steady herself. "Peeta!" she gasps, but whatever else she might've said is swallowed in another kiss. She is flushed and flustered and flabbergasted, speechless and stunned, and Peeta cups her face in his hands, his face shining as he smiles at her.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asks, breathless. "What's the matter?"

She can only look over his shoulder, panting, and he turns. He lets out a strangled noise, his hands slipping from her face. "I didn't — I — I didn't —" He looks at Katniss for an instant, panicked, before he suddenly straightens, tearing his hat off his head and turning to face Snow and Crane.

"Your name, boy," Crane barks, revolver still raised, pointed straight at Peeta and Katniss.

"Peeta Mellark, sir," he says, a tremor in his voice. "First Lieut. Peeta Mellark, sir."

"Are you aware that you are in a private hotel room, First Lieut. Peeta Mellark?"

"What? No, sir, no, I — no, I swear I didn't — I only —" He shakes his head. "I did not, sir."

"And what possible explanation could you have to be in this private room, Lieutenant?" Crane asks. "Answer carefully, boy," he adds, nostrils flaring, "lest I find reason to shoot you and your wife for treason against our Confederacy." Snow stands motionless, silent, eyes narrowed to slits. Peeta is almost hiding Katniss behind him, and she curls her hand into his shirtsleeve, terrified.

"I just — I used to visit the Capitol as a boy because my father was friends with Mr. Abernathy — Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, who owns the hotel," Peeta says, the words pouring out, "and we used to visit every summer, and I would play in this room with my older brothers, because no one ever stayed here — it was too expensive! And — and so — when I found out that I would be in Winchester, I told Katniss — my wife, this is Katniss, my wife — I told her to meet me up here!"

Silence.

"We are to understand," Snow starts, almost hissing, "that you asked your wife to meet you in my private suite?" He doesn't sound as if he believes it. His face is blank, however, too blank to read.

But Crane lowers his revolver.

"I did," Peeta says, nodding furiously, eyes wide. "And I am so, so sorry, sir. I didn't know anyone would be here. I swear I didn't believe this room was taken at all, sir, let alone by General Snow, and Katniss didn't either — she said she didn't know, but it was always quiet, so she _thought_ — we did _not_ know, sir, we didn't — and I just — we only wanted to — you know — to — to —" He starts to stutter incoherently, face flushing, and Katniss tries to help, whimpering and hiding her face in her hands. "— truly am _so_ sorry, sir," Peeta splutters, "we didn't realize —"

And suddenly Crane starts to laugh.

Katniss slips her hands from her face, stunned. Crane doubles over, slapping his knee. "Oh, if that don't beat the dutch! I should see you whipped for your stupidity, boy, but I can hardly whip a soldier for wanting to see his wife. Aw, go on. Get out. Unless —" He looks hesitantly at Snow.

Snow simply stands stony and silent, however, lips stretched in a thin line.

"I — I don't understand, sir," Peeta starts, twisting his hat in his hands.

"Even I can appreciate young love, Lieutenant Mellark," Crane says. He chuckles to himself and waves a hand at the door. "Go on. Skedaddle. Enjoy yourself. Just be sure not to let me catch you monkeying around somewhere you shouldn't be a second time. I won't be so understanding twice."

"Yes, sir," Peeta stutters. "Thank — thank you, sir." He tugs Katniss off the desk, and she stumbles with him to the door. "I really appreciate this, sir. It won't happen a second time, sir."

Katniss can hardly believe their luck, but Crane only _winks_, so amused, as she passes him. She risks a look at Snow, however, and he stares back at her, his expression cold, clearly unconvinced.

The door shuts behind her a moment later, hiding Snow, and Peeta pulls Katniss towards the stairs.

She almost trips over her feet, however, and she looks at Peeta. What just happened?

"Come on," he says, "we shouldn't linger. Where is your room? Or anywhere we can talk?" His face is kind, but she finds herself unable to answer, and her eyes fall to their hands, still clasped.

"The third floor," she finally says, the words sticking in her throat. "I've a room on the third floor."

He nods, and he leads her towards the stairs, his hand is too warm, a strange touch, but she suspects that without his hand to steady her she would lose her footing and tumble down the stairs.

He doesn't release her hand until they're in her room, and she watches him shut and lock the door.

Her hands shake a little as she tries to start the gas lamp, to light the dark room just a little.

He turns to her, a smile on his face, and she can still only stare. "Are you okay?" he asks, hesitant.

"No," she says at last, shaking her head, "no, I am not." Her mind still hasn't caught up with her racing heart. "I don't even understand what — what happened — I don't — what just happened?"

He steps further into the room, closer to her. "Rue found me," Peeta says, "and she told me that you were in trouble, that you had been caught, and — I'm sorry if — I didn't mean to assault you, or — or to offend you." A blush starts to crawl up his neck. "It was all I could possibly think to do. Rue told me that you were pretending to be my wife, and I thought — I thought if we looked like love struck dopes, we could talk our way out. I apologize if I seemed to take liberties. But I think it worked."

She doesn't know how to respond, and he shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable.

"I think they believed us," he continues, and something else flickers suddenly in his face. "But you must be more careful! They will kill you without a second thought if they suspect you are a traitor, especially after this. If my company hadn't arrived early, or if Rue hadn't found me when she did, or if I hadn't —" He shakes his head. "So if you continue this, if you continue to spy —"

No. Rue might trust him, but she can't be certain —

"I am not a spy," she murmurs. She clears her throat, forces herself to find her voice. "I am not a traitor. As I would've explained had you not rushed into the room and — and _kissed_ me, I sought only a — a fresh inkwell with which to write my — my dear friend Madge. Undersee. That is all."

"Katniss," he says, somehow amused, "you're a terrible liar. But you needn't try. Rue told me."

She stares at him. It _is_ too late to deny it, isn't it? She straightens. "Fine," she says. "Yes, I am a spy for the Union, and I am not ashamed. This war is not a just war. I am not ashamed to help the fight to end it as it should end." She keeps her head high, holds his stare, isn't sure what to expect.

And he chuckles, almost indulgent. "Katniss, I understand all that. I am a spy for the Union, too."

She blinks. "That isn't possible."

"It isn't? Why not?" He smiles. "I never wanted secession, nor this war. And when it came, and I was offered the chance to still fight for what was right — I took it. I am for the Union, Katniss. I didn't tell you, or my brother, or even Rue — I didn't tell anyone, because I wanted to protect you all. I didn't even write anyone for fear that the repercussions, should I be caught, would reach —"

"That's why you didn't write?" Katniss cuts in, incredulous. But she is too outraged to let him answer. "We thought you were dead! Your brother, Rue — we were certain of it! And for what?"

"To protect you!" Peeta defends. "General Snow doesn't simply kill traitors; he kills everyone a person loves, and I couldn't risk that. I couldn't. I am willing to risk my own life, but I will not risk the lives of those for whom I care. I won't. I _can't_. I am sorry that you suffered for it, but —"

She shakes her head at him, too mad to speak, and they are at each for a moment.

She sinks down on the bed, too overwhelmed to fight with him. She still has so much to ask.

"Well, it was all for naught," she tells him. "You're here now, and they know you've a wife, and a slave, and —" She stops. "I — I am sorry for that." Her irritation dissolves, and she finds she can't quite look at his face. "It wasn't right of me to steal your name like that, but I was cornered —"

"No," he interrupts, voice soft, "don't be sorry." She looks at him, and he smiles. "Rue didn't explain everything," he continues, "but she said you needed to hide from Confederate soldiers back home. I understand. I don't mind at all. Really. Actually, I'm — I'm happy that you trusted me with that. Or that you felt — I truly don't mind. I'm glad it helped you. And it helped us today, didn't it? It would've looked bad for us to be meeting upstairs if we weren't married." His cheeks are pink.

"I am sorry to have pulled you into this mess, though," she says. She really is.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," he replies, so sincere she doesn't know how to respond.

"Mr. Mellark," she starts.

"Peeta," he corrects. His face flushes still pinker. "Please. Peeta. We are — _friends_, after all."

"I am a terrible friend," she murmurs. She doesn't let him argue. "I can run," she offers. "Rue and I intended to run before, to escape this terrible hotel, but we couldn't when I learned you were to arrive, because I feared the repercussions for you. But if we run now, you can disown us, disown _me_, explain that I stole your name. It would probably be best." It would _definitely_ be best.

But he shakes his head at her, and he steps closer, moving as if he intends to sit beside her on the bed. He doesn't, but he stands close enough that she can see the dirt that stains his worn, wrinkled uniform, and she finally notices the dark, tired purple smudges under his eyes, how thin his face is.

"I don't intend to disown you," he says. "As long as we're together, as long as we act as husband and wife, they have no reason to suspect we might be spies. None at all. We're safest together."

"I wouldn't be so certain," she says. "I doubt they really believed us." She won't easily forget the way Snow stared at her as they left, his eyes so unforgiving, cold and hard. "I'm sure they didn't."

"They did," Peeta insists. "General Crane wouldn't have let us walk out if he didn't."

"And General Snow?" Katniss asks. He hesitates. She smiles grimly, knowingly. "And I certainly didn't help before you arrived, when I stayed silent and didn't even try to defend myself. That must look suspicious. Why wouldn't I have burst into tears and explained that you were to meet me?"

"They probably assumed you were just stunned with terror, or maybe that you wanted to protect me," Peeta excuses. And maybe that _is_ what Crane imagines, but Katniss knows Snow isn't fooled.

Peeta squats down in front of her suddenly, and his hands reach for hers.

"If we keep up this ruse, Miss Everdeen," he says, "we can stay safe. They will keep a careful eye on us after today, that I can admit, but we will fool them nonetheless. We will act as husband and wife, and we will fool them. We can continue to spy for the Union, and we will keep each other safe as we do it." He smiles. "And, one way or the other, we will both escape the Capitol alive."

She stares at him. "Katniss," she finally says. "If I am to call you Peeta, and we are to pretend to be wed, you should call me Katniss. You already did earlier." He nods, and he squeezes her hands. "I suppose we ought to find Rue." She is flustered suddenly, Peeta still so close, holding her hands.

She needs to trust him. And she wants to trust him. She does. Or she will. Rue does.

"Yes," Peeta says, "she is probably worried about us. She saw me arrive, and we were able to speak, but it wasn't for long before suddenly she saw Mrs. Abernathy, and she realized that dinner had finished. I watched the color drain from her face, and I promised her that I would help you."

"And you did," Katniss says. She realizes she hasn't thanked him yet. "And I'm indebted to you for that." For so much, she wants to say, for his help and for his name and for his burned bread. "But we need to talk to Rue. To let her know that we managed to throw off suspicion for the moment."

"I think we have to wait, though," he says. "We don't want to run across Crane in our search for Rue, because Crane will surely assume that we're —" He stops, and this time she almost laughs at how deeply he flushes. Her own cheeks are blazing too, however, and she only bites her lip, nodding.

"Perhaps Rue will come to find us," Katniss says. "I'm surprised she hasn't already."

Peeta still holds her hands, his wrists brushing her knees.

"She will soon," he says. "And we will all be alright." He smiles. "Together, we'll be alright."

She looks at their hands. His knuckles are lined with dirt. He needs to wash. And to rest. She focuses on that. "You should try to sleep," she says. "Take the bed. You look as if you haven't slept in a month." She starts to stand. Peeta rocks back on his heels to let her, releasing her hands.

"I look that good, do I?" he asks, and she starts to apologize, only to see his cheeky half smile.

"Take the bed, Peeta," she insists. "Rest." She moves to curl up on the chair near the window. She needs a moment to herself, to think, to process it all, to make sense of this whole harrowing night.

"I haven't washed in much longer than I haven't rested, Katniss," he says. "If I take your bed —"

She doesn't want to have this argument. She starts to unsnap his coat, and she tugs it off his shoulders. He stumbles a little, eyes wide, but she moves too quickly for him. She tosses the jacket onto the closer chair, and she shoves him back, so his calves hit the bed and he sinks onto it. She kneels down, starts to unlace his boots. He catches up at last, and his fingers fumble over hers.

"I can do it," he murmurs. "Katniss, I can do it." She stills and looks up at him to find his face especially close, close enough for his breath to fan against her cheeks. His hand moves to brush a lock of hair from her face, and her heart jumps. "Thank you," he says. She isn't sure for what, but she nods and steps back. He carefully unlaces his boots, and he stands to set them neatly against the wall.

"You can use the washing jug," she says. "The towels are clean."

She stares out at the street as he washes his hands and his face. This is already so awkward, and she can't imagine how much more awkward the rest will be. He will have to stay in her room, won't he? As her husband, it would be strange if he didn't. Where will she sleep? How will they dress? Her eyes widen at the thought. Maybe he will be required to stay with the other soldiers.

Yes. That would make sense. She nods to herself. She watches rain splatter against the window.

"Katniss."

She turns to Peeta, standing hesitantly beside the bed. "You won't try to run while I sleep?" he asks. "It isn't better for me if you run, no matter what you might think. You have to trust me. We're safer here, spying together, pretending." His face is so earnest and so worried, and it softens her.

"I know," she says. "I do. I won't run. We will handle Snow and Crane and the Capitol. Together."

He smiles, his whole face lighter, and someone knocks on the door.

The panic is immediate, choking her, but Peeta is already moving towards her, and he runs his fingers through her hair, mussing it, freeing a few locks, before his hands fumble with the buttons that line her jacket. He doesn't look at her as he does it. But the knocking grows louder, and he smiles, tense, and starts towards the door, unbuttoning his own shirt as he walks.

She reaches up and easily slips the pins from her hair, lets it all tumble down.

She can pretend just as well as Peeta can. But it might only be Rue, she tells herself, except Rue doesn't knock like that. She puts on a smile. Peeta opens the door. And Katniss feels her knotted stomach loosen, because "Oh, my!" Mrs. Abernathy exclaims, looking between Peeta and Katniss.

She seems delighted.

"Mrs. Abernathy," Katniss starts, trying to act embarrassed as she buttons her shirt. "This is my husband," she introduces, "Lieut. Mellark." At least her face is flushed, helping her play the part.

But what must Mrs. Abernathy think of her?

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Mrs. Abernathy says, sounding absolutely _thrilled_. "Oh, how wonderful, my dear! I could hardly believe Mr. Abernathy when he told me that your sweet husband had arrived with the other soldiers. And you knew he would, and you kept it a secret! Oh, why, you even played sick to keep him to yourself. Oh, you little dear!" She giggles madly and winks at Katniss.

Katniss manages to smile, hoping it doesn't look suspect. Smiling isn't her strong suit.

But Peeta steps forward, pulling the attention on himself, and offers a hand to Mrs. Abernathy. "I apologize that we are meeting so informally, Mrs. Abernathy," he says, and he introduces himself, compliments her, and praises the hotel all in a single breath. Mrs. Abernathy laughs, delighted, and pats his arm, asking if he wants a suite. "A suite, ma'am?" he repeats, his expression careful.

"Yes, dear boy, for you and Mrs. Mellark!" Mrs. Abernathy says. "This little room is hardly fitting for a brave soldier and his wife!" She beams at Katniss. "All the officers are to stay on the fourth or the fifth floors," she continues, "but Mr. Ableman already stays with his wife on the second landing, you know, so I'm _certain_ an exception is allowed for our married boys." And she smiles.

"This room is more than enough," Peeta answers. "I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble." And before Mrs. Abernathy can protest that it won't be any trouble, he changes the subject. "I am glad you came to check on Mrs. Mellark," he says, "as I am expected to report to the camp at nightfall, and I hadn't realized how late it is." He smiles, and Mrs. Abernathy waves aside his thanks.

She doesn't look as if she wants to leave, but she does, and Katniss almost collapses against her chair when the door shuts. Peeta turns to her with a sheepish smile. "I cannot believe that woman is married to Haymitch Abernathy," he says. He shakes his head, and he starts to pull his boots on.

"I cannot either, to be honest," Katniss replies, watching him, questions rising in her mind about how he met Mr. Abernathy and if he knows that Mr. Abernathy knows something about him, perhaps that he is a spy, and is Mr. Abernathy a spy? Katniss almost can't believe that, yet —

"I really do need to be at the camp at nightfall," Peeta says, double-knotting his boots. "And I'm not sure how long I'll be needed. If I'm not back tonight, I'll find you as soon as I can tomorrow." He smiles, as if to assure her, and she nods, smiles tightly. How is he so calm? How is so unaffected?

He buttons his coat, and he steps toward her suddenly, brushing a hand against her arm.

"We'll be fine," he says. "We will. We're in this together." He catches her hand, squeezes, and she tries to believe him. The room almost seems too quiet when he leaves, and she sinks into a chair, too many thoughts in her head, but it doesn't take too long for her mind to flicker anxiously to Rue.

They need to talk. Rue must've heard what happened, like Mrs. Abernathy clearly did.

And mortification rises to life inside Katniss, because surely everyone in the Capitol has heard that Katniss pretended to be sick for dinner so that she could have a secret rendezvous with Peeta, only to be caught in the act. She must seem like a complete idiot. But, well, perhaps that is best. Isn't it?

No one will suspect some stupid, silly girl to be a traitor, after all.

She still needs to talk to Rue.

She is tempted simply to braid her hair, but she knows she shouldn't; she needs to act as much like a lady as she can. She starts to pin up her hair, but she isn't even near finished when someone knocks softly on the door, a familiar knock, and she almost trips in her haste to open the door.

Rue smiles, her relief evident, and Katniss quickly ushers her into the room.

"I brought you some tea and something to eat, too," Rue says, setting the tray on the table. "Are you alright?" She looks so anxious, her eyes wide with despair, and Katniss leads her to the chair.

"As alright as I can be," Katniss assures. "And can I assume you know what happened?"

"Yes, a little, but — but I am _so_ sorry, Katniss," Rue says. "I saw Mr. Mellark, and I was so happy to see him, and I completely abandoned you. And when I realized —" She is near tears.

"No, don't fret, Rue, don't," Katniss insists, shaking her head. "You sent Mr. Mellark to me, and he helped me, worked out the perfect excuse for us to light right out. I suspect that General Snow is still suspicious, but we are alive. We are alight." Rue nods a little, as if trying to believe Katniss, and Katniss moves to the tray. She _is_ hungry. Rue brought her potato pudding and ham and jonnycakes, and Katniss could kiss Rue, this sweet little girl who so steadfastly looks after her.

"Are we to stay in the Capitol?" Rue asks.

Katniss nods. "Mr. Mellark thinks it would be best. To stay. To continue the ruse of marriage."

"He is right," Rue says. "We are safe with him." She pauses. "I saw him with the other officers, Katniss. He is so respected. So admired. And he told me he started as the dog robber, but he saved half the regiment in Northern Virginia, so they made him a private that very first winter, and now he is a _lieutenant_, if you can believe it." Her eyes almost sparkle, so affectionate, so very happy.

Katniss doesn't want to ruin that, but — "Did he tell you why he hadn't written?" she asks.

Rue bites her lip. "He said it was to protect me. That he — that he did something special for the army, and he feared that if he were found out those for whom he seemed to care would be hurt."

Katniss slowly smiles, watching Rue. "He is an absolute dope, isn't he?" Katniss says.

"The _worst_ dope imaginable," Rue agrees, nodding, "and I want to be so furious at him, but I am too happy that he _is_ alive." She laughs a little, shaking her head at herself, and it is quiet for a moment as Katniss smears the pudding across her ham and takes an eager bite. "What do you think it is he does?" Rue asks finally, her fingers absently tracing the floral pattern in the chair cloth.

"He spies for the Union," Katniss says, "like us. I don't know to whom he reports, or all the details, but I think he joined the war effort _to_ spy." She burns her tongue on the tea, but she doesn't care. She feels as if she can relax, hidden in her room with something to eat and Rue beside her, for the first time all night. And somehow they will find a way to work out all the rest as it comes.

Rue tilts her head, almost playful. "So," she says lightly, "how do you like being his wife?"

Katniss pauses, jonnycake halfway to her mouth. "I'm not sure how that will work, actually." Her eyes flicker around the room, to her wardrobe, to the small bed tucked against the wall. Rue looks to the bed, too, before she looks at Katniss, and her cheeks twitch with a useless effort not to smile.

"I doubt Mr. Mellark will mind sharing a room," she says, "_at all._" And she raises her eyebrows.

"Rue!" Katniss exclaims.

Rue laughs, kicking her legs and hiding her face in her hands, and she peaks out at Katniss from between her fingers. Katniss shakes her head, and it only makes Rue laugh more, before suddenly she surges off her chair to wrap her arms around Katniss, pressing her face into Katniss's neck.

"I love you," she whispers. "I love you so much."

Katniss closes her eyes for a moment, and she kisses the top of Rue's head.

She is almost tempted to ask Rue to stay the night, but it wouldn't be wise, and Rue leaves eventually, taking the empty tray with her. It is late now, and Katniss suspects Peeta won't return that night. She is grateful for it. But she feels bad as soon as thinks that, looking out at the rainy street, knowing he will be forced to sleep in a tent under that rain. Maybe he _will_ come back.

She changes into her sleep clothes quickly, puts her hair in a braid, and climbs into bed.

The gas lamp makes shadows play on the walls. She flicks it off, bathing the room in darkness.

Snow heads to Chattanooga tomorrow. She doesn't know what awaits him, doesn't know what it is that Boggs is so desperate to know, but she is more than happy to see Snow leave. She can only hope he will forget about her. She scoffs to herself. He won't. And he will return in only a month.

Her mind is still too full when suddenly someone shouts her name with a muffled voice, and Katniss blinks, confused, cotton in her mouth. She sits up, running a hand over her hair, the curtains edged in morning light. She must've fallen asleep, and she must've slept soundly all night.

Effie raps loudly on the door. "Katniss! Up, up! Let me in, darling!"

Katniss starts to stand from the bed, only to stop short when her eyes land on him, on _Peeta_, lying on the ground, fast asleep, his jacket for a pillow, his boots neatly lined against the wall. Effie raps louder on the door. "Katniss! This is ridiculous! Open this door!" Katniss looks at the door, at Peeta, at the bed. "I cannot believe you locked this door," Effie exclaims, "but if you think you can keep me out with a locked door, Mrs. Mellark, another think is about to hit you over the head!"

"Peeta," Katniss murmurs, kneeling down and shaking his shoulder. He mumbles something. She digs her fingers into his shirt and tries to pull him to his feet. Her efforts are wasted; he is far too heavy, but he blinks, almost awake, confused. "Come on," she murmurs. "Quickly." He follows her like a little child, clinging to her hand, and he lets her shove him onto the bed. He sits on the edge, staring at her with a puzzled frown, and she can finally see sense returning to him. That's all she needs.

She tears across the room and yanks open the door. Effie nearly knocks her knuckles on Katniss.

"Ah! It is about time!" Effie cries, indignant.

"I can dress myself," Katniss says, blocking off the room from Effie and the two usual servants, Octavia and Venia, standing behind Effie with fresh towels and that dreadful curling iron in hand.

"Oh, balderdash. I won't stand for it. Move aside, dear."

"I can curl my own hair, too," Katniss insists.

But from within the room, Peeta speaks up. "It's alright, sweetheart."

Effie gapes, and she nearly shoves Katniss aside. Peeta is standing by the bed, tired smile on his face, dressed in all but his coat. "Effie Trinket," Katniss says, "my husband, Lieut. Peeta Mellark."

"Oh," Effie says.

"He arrived late last night with the company from South Carolina," Katniss says.

"Oh," Effie repeats, nodding. "_Oh_." And she smiles. "A pleasure, Lieut. Mellark." She curtsies.

He nods, smiling. "Miss Trinket. Mrs. Mellark speaks so well of you; the pleasure is all mine."

Effie smiles, patting her hair, almost preening, clearly pleased.

How does Peeta do that? How does he charm _everyone _so easily? Effie asks him how he enjoyed his first night in the Capitol, and he starts to talk about the happy time he spent here as a little boy, all lies, as far as Katniss knows, but he tells the stories so effortlessly, smiling, completely relaxed.

And he easily excuses himself after a few minutes, saying he needs to talk to his captain, and he picks up his coat, kisses Katniss quickly, affectionately, and smiles widely at Effie as he leaves. The door shuts behind him, and Effie touches a hand to her heart. "That man is an absolute _treat_!"

Katniss manages a smile as she pulls off her nightdress. Venia starts a small fire to heat the curling iron and Octavia takes the washing jug to empty. Effie opens the window a crack behind the curtain to let in a nonexistent breeze, claps her hands together, and their insufferable routine begins.

An hour later, dressed in duds that involve far too much lace, her hair somehow curlier than ever, falling around her shoulders in perfect ringlets, she makes her way downstairs, and it doesn't take more than a minute for her to attract attention from the Confederate soldiers scattered everywhere.

She keeps her eyes downcast, and she finds Peeta in the kitchens with Rue.

"All the officers are free to do as they like," Peeta tells her, "although we're all expected at dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy and General Crane." He smiles. "I thought we might take a walk."

She nods. "I could use some fresh air."

She accepts a biscuit from Rue as Peeta tucks in his shirt and buttons up his coat, and she takes his arm as they step outside. The rain from last night cleared the air, and the sun shines down, bright and pleasant. "The best kind of Virginia summer day," Peeta calls it. He picks a pink dogwood flower right off a tree for her, and she twirls the flower absently, trying to act happy and at ease.

It feels as if they are watched with every step they take.

As they reach the bakery, where Peeta insists that she let him buy her a pastry, she spots General Crane across the street. She turns to Peeta, slips an arm around his waist, and holds her pastry up to his mouth. He laughs a little, but he takes a bite. She wipes frosting off his lip with her thumb.

She can only hope that Crane saw.

They don't talk about much. He tells her about his travels, and, his voice too light, that he writes editorials for local papers, meant to encourage Confederate hearts but, perhaps, someone in the Union might read them, too. It takes her a few minutes, but she understands. "We eat so well at the Capitol," she says, "but I am still so happy that Rue found someone who trades strawberries for eggs with us. She delivers the eggs herself, careful not to break any, and returns with the berries."

Peeta nods. "I've always loved strawberries," he says, and he kisses her temple. He understands.

She wonders for a moment if they really need to speak in riddles, but the next moment yet another soldier tips his hat at them, and she knows that they do. She presses just a tiny bit closer to Peeta.

At least they're in this together, just like he said.

* * *

><p>He isn't certain that this is real.<p>

How can it be?

The moment they return to the Capitol, Rue wants to whisk him upstairs, where she tells him a tub waits. She wants him to take a bath, to relax, and she bought cigars for him, she says, and she pushes them into his hands, and she _needs_ to send his coat to be washed for dinner. He laughs.

It seems unreal that Rue is so happy and so healthy, standing right in front of him, mothering him.

She loves Katniss. Every time she so much as _looks_ at Katniss, her face shines with it. Adoration.

And Katniss so clearly adores Rue, too. Katniss, wearing his ring, using his name, slipping her hand into his hand as they make their way downstairs to dinner. She looks so strange in her silk dresses, hair curled, face painted, yet who she is still manages to peek through, and he wants to kiss her every singe time her lips purse with still another scowl. Katniss, pretending to be his wife.

He knows she is wary, is unsure whether she can really trust him.

Good. He isn't stupid enough not to know that caution helps keep a person alive in a situation like this. War. But she _can_ trust him. He won't let anything happen to her. He'll just have to prove that.

She seems started to see him after his bath, his clothing fresh, his jacket washed, and her eyes linger over the bruises, now visible, that circle his wrist and peek out from behind his ear, bruises from the last battle. He only smiles, though, and leads her into a large, ornate dining room where most everyone is already seated, including Crane, who nods at them, thin smirk tugging on his lips.

Katniss tightens her hand around Peeta's arm, and he presses his shoulder to hers.

"Mr. Mellark, a day's rest has done you well!" Maysilee Abernathy exclaims, smiling brightly.

"A day with his wife, more likely," John murmurs to Arthur, just loud enough for Peeta to hear.

He steps forward, pulling out a chair for Katniss. "Lieut. Kent," he says, "Sgt. Blackwell. Let me introduce my wife, Katniss Mellark." They both nod at her, and Katniss smiles a little, awkwardly curtseying her way into her chair. Arthur smiles so widely at the sight that his dimples bloom in his cheeks.

Peeta presses an obviously affectionate hand to her shoulder and takes the seat beside her.

He pretends not to see Marvel seated between Nick and Crane. He wonders if Katniss knows that Marvel was married to the woman she caught spying, or if she even really caught her spying. He doesn't know, he realizes, what actually happened. He needs to take with Rue and Katniss, to find exactly what all has happened in the weeks they've been at Winchester, why they even came here.

But now clearly isn't the time for that.

He finds himself seated across from Cato Ableman. He hasn't seen Cato since Antietam, and he suppresses a shudder at the memory. Cato introduces his wife to Peeta; she is a small, slim woman, Clove Ableman, with what he imagines could be a pretty face but it is hidden under a tight, haughty expression, her forehead pinched as if in disdain at anything and everything. He tries to make conversation with her, though, asking her about her stay so far in Winchester, if she likes the town.

She doesn't deign to respond beyond a few curt words, but soon everyone is at the table and dinner is served. Peeta hasn't eaten this well in months, and it takes all his self-control to eat in small, polite, measured bites. "Mrs. Mellark," Abraham says suddenly, "you must tell us how you met our Lieut. Mellark." He smiles widely, and Mrs. Abernathy adds that oh, yes, Katniss _must_ tell.

"We've — we've known each other since we were young," Katniss says, uncomfortable.

She looks at Peeta, and he nods. "I shall never forget the first time I saw her," he says. "We were only little children, five years old, and it was our first year at school, our very first day at the little brown school house just down a few streets down from where Katniss lived. And my father pointed her out to me, this sweet little girl, her hair in two braids, wearing this bright red dress." He smiles.

Katniss stares at him, and she starts to nod a little, as if she remembers that.

"And my father said that he had wanted to marry her mother, but she had run off with a coal miner. I was appalled." And he tells the whole story, the story about a boy who could sing so well even the birds stopped to listen. Katniss can't quite hide her surprise as he talks, as he describes the way she volunteered to sing, her voice so pretty even the birds stopped to listen, and that was it for him.

She was it for him, right from that very moment. "Oh, you dears," Mrs. Abernathy says, sighing.

"You've never told me that story," Katniss murmurs, her cheeks pink.

"Anyway," Peeta says, tearing his eyes from her to look around the table, "it took a little longer for Katniss to notice me, but I found excuse after excuse to call on her, and she finally settled for me."

"I didn't — I didn't _settle_ for you," Katniss protests, looking annoyed.

He chuckles, and he takes her hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

"No reason to lie, Mrs. Mellark," Arthur teases. "A sweetheart as pretty as you could've done better than an old hayseed like Mellark."

"No," Katniss says, "I couldn't have possibly done better." And she says it so firmly, so sharply, as if she won't even joke about it. Mrs. Abernathy lets out another lovelorn sigh, and Katniss hides her face in her plate, eating her peas as if it takes her utmost attention. Peeta smiles down at his own plate.

"And how did you meet your wife, Mr. Ableman?" Mrs. Abernathy asks.

Peeta means to listen to the story, but he doesn't, not when he notices Marvel staring so intently at Katniss. It makes something in Peeta's stomach tighten, and he wants to hide Katniss from Marvel. But he can't, and he isn't surprised when, after dinner finishes, as everyone starts to stand, Marvel makes his way towards them. Katniss politely, gingerly holds out a hand, and he presses a long, lingering kiss to her knuckles, his face too calm. "Mrs. Mellark," he says, drawing out the name.

"This is Corporal Marvel Davis," Peeta introduces, touching a hand to her back.

Katniss smiles, and Peeta hopes no one else can pick out how strained it is.

"I believe you were acquainted with my wife," Marvel says, "Glimmer Davis."

The room has turned noticeably quiet around them, all eyes watching the exchange.

Maybe it isn't so suspect for Katniss to have only a strained smile for Marvel.

"Yes," she murmurs, not batting an eye, "I believe I was." And she turns to Peeta, takes his arm. "I'm afraid you must excuse us. I am eager to show my husband the garden. Have a lovely evening, Corporal Davis."

He nods, and Peeta exchanges a quick, tense smile with Arthur before he and Katniss make their escape.

Katniss lets out a deep breath when they step outside, as if she couldn't breathe inside. He understands the feeling. They don't speak for a moment, and he watches her as she stares at all the wilting flowers.

"At least Snow left," he offers at last.

She looks at him suddenly, almost surprised, as if she hadn't realized he still stood beside her.

"Yes," she says, "at least there's that. Your friend, Corporal Davis —" She stops.

"He isn't much my friend," Peeta replies. "And he certainly isn't the decent sort." He speaks with more comfort in his voice than he intends there to be, but that _is_ what he wants, to comfort her, because he knows what guilt looks like on an innocent face. "What happened with Glimmer Davis?" he asks softly, "if you don't mind my asking." He doesn't want to upset her.

"She caught me," Katniss whispers. "But Rue and I were able to make it look to Crane as if — as if we caught her instead."

She looks at the doors to the hotel, as if afraid that suddenly someone will rush out, ready to hurl accusations at her. She looks back at Peeta, and he nods. That is explanation enough, at least for now. "I'm afraid I need to leave," he says. "I need to take count. Of the soldiers, I mean. Make sure everyone is where he ought to be. But it won't take more than an hour, or perhaps two. Is that alright?"

She stares for a moment before she suddenly snorts. "Yes, Peeta," she says, "I think I can survive a few minutes without your presence." He laughs, touching her hand, and he starts to turn to head back inside, but she stops him, her fingers tangling with his, and she presses her other hand to his shoulder, forces him to duck down a little, to duck down just enough so that she can kiss him.

He is startled, but her lips move softly, nervously, against his for a moment that ends far too soon. "Don't take too long," she murmurs, stepping back. She smiles up at him, softly and sweetly, running an affectionate hand over his hair.

He nods, a little dumbfounded. "I won't." The smile starts to slip across his face as he turns, and he sees Clove at the door. Oh. That makes a little more sense. He can't let himself forget that this all isn't _truly_ real, not as real as he wants it to be. He keeps a smile on his face as he passes Clove, who waves a few fingers in acknowledgement, and he resists the urge to look back and see if she talks to Katniss.

The count is finished within an hour.

He lets Nick and Abraham tease him about Katniss throughout the hour. "At least now we know why you _really_ kept your girl a secret," Abe says, "you just didn't want to let us on to the fact that you were a blamed galoot, did you!"

They cackle to themselves, and Peeta rolls his eyes. They're both married, too, and he knows they've no room to speak.

When they return to the Capitol, he looks in the kitchen for Rue, but she must've already went to bed, and he heads upstairs. He knocks softly on the door, not wanting to startle Katniss. She is already dressed in her nightgown, her hair in a simple, familiar braid that makes his heart warm a little in his chest, and he tries to look at her braid rather than at her bare arms or her bare legs.

"I, um — I thought we could take turns with the bed," she starts. "So since last night I —"

"No," he says, "no, the bed is yours. I am the intruder, and I am more than happy with the floor."

She frowns. "I don't think —"

"If you don't want to sleep on the bed," he says, "fine, but you won't convince me to take it." He looks around the room, nods to himself, and plops down on the floor, smiling up at her. "This spot is taken, though."

Her lips twitch. "Fine." She moves to the bed, and she is flustered a second time. "I'll, um, I'll face the wall so that you can —" She waves her hand, cheeks flushing, and slips under the covers. He thanks her, more amused than he should be, and the room turns quiet as he pulls off his boots and his jacket. He folds his jacket for a pillow, but as he starts to lie down, a pillow sails through the air and smacks him in the side.

"Good night," Katniss says, and she flicks off the lamp.

The hotel is too warm from the summer weather to need it, but he pulls his camp blanket out nonetheless, and he smiles into his new pillow. It smells like her. He closes his eyes, but he opens them a moment later. Too much happened. He can't fall asleep. The crickets are too loud.

He looks over at the bed, at the shape rising up under the sheets, just visible in the dark.

"Peeta," Katniss says suddenly, breaking the silence, "that story you told at dinner — I remember that dress." Her voice is hesitant.

He isn't sure what he is supposed to say.

"I really did wear a red dress," she whispers. "That story — is that true?"

"Yes," he admits.

The crickets are even louder. "All of it?" Katniss asks, almost in disbelief. "It's _all_ true?"

"Yes," he says. "All of it."

"Oh."

He wishes he could see her face. But he can't, and it stays quiet for a long moment. "Good night, Katniss."

"Good night."

It must take him at least another hour to fall asleep. Katniss is already awake, the bed neatly made, when he wakes up, and she tells him the water in the washing jug is fresh. She stares out the window as he dresses. He needs to oversee the morning drills, and it works perfectly, really; he can head out and let her have the room to herself to prepare for the day. "I'll find you for lunch," he tells her. She nods. "I can't wait to see how curly Effie turns your hair today," he says.

She looks at him, clearly not amused, and he grins back at her. "Surely not as curly as _yours_," Katniss replies.

"No," he says, "few can imitate my natural curls." He pats his hair, and she snorts.

Effie knocks on the door only moments later. "Always punctual," Katniss says.

He opens the door. "Good morning, Mr. Mellark!" Effie chirps, beaming at him.

"Miss Trinket," he says. "Don't dress her up too much now. I like her just the way she is, you know."

And he tosses a smile at Katniss, who rolls her eyes, unimpressed. But he wouldn't expect anything less, and he winks at Effie on his way out, laughing to himself when, walking down the hall, he just manages to hear Effie reprimand Katniss for rolling her eyes at her own husband.

He meets Arthur outside the Capitol, and they head to direct drills together. The sun is already too hot overhead, and the humidity, an old, familiar devil, presses down on their shoulders, making the drills seemingly endless. But, a little past nine, they are finally able to return to the Capitol.

They are still across the street from the front doors, however, when Peeta sees them —

Marvel, _dragging_ Rue into the Capitol, his hand tight around her arm, his loud voice carrying, the words indistinguishable but the fury painfully clear, and Peeta is momentarily too stunned to do more than watch as Marvel shoves Rue roughly through the front doors, into the Capitol. Peeta doesn't understand.

But —

He looks at Arthur, and they both take off at a sprint.

They reach the lobby just in time to see Marvel throw Rue to the floor right before the stairs on which Katniss stands, her knuckles white as she clutches the railing, eyes wide. And Marvel stares up at her, his face contorted. "I want you to see this," he snarls, and he pulls out his revolver.

Oh, God.

"What the blazes are you on about, Davis?" Peeta exclaims, storming forward.

"Justice, Mellark," Marvel sneers, and he aims the revolver straight at Rue.

Confused, terrified, furious, Peeta starts to tear out his own revolver, but his hand barely brushes the handle before General Crane stalks forward from the right wing hall, his face stony. "Any justice imposed in this hotel," he says sharply, "is done with _my_ explicit consent, Corporal Davis, and _only_ with my explicit consent." He looks around, and Peeta realizes that he isn't the only person to rush to the lobby; two dozen soldiers have seeping into the hall, circling the scene.

"Lower your revolver, Corporal," Crane says. "And explain yourself."

Marvel doesn't move. Peeta starts to pull out his own revolver. He isn't about to let Marvel shoot Rue, or Katniss, or anyone at all. But Crane holds up his hand, and Peeta stills, hands tight around the revolver still tucked into his belt. "I said lower your revolver, boy. Explain yourself." Crane stares at Marvel, and slowly, nostrils flaring, Marvel finally lets his arm drop. Rue lets out a shaky breath, terror strung through her tiny frame, her eyes darting fearfully between Peeta and Katniss.

"This slave —" Marvel starts, the revolver waving through the air with each word.

"— is _mine_," Katniss cuts in, "and I don't know what I just walked in on, but you have absolutely _no_ right to touch her." She starts to continue down the stairs, towards Rue, towards Marvel, and Peeta wishes she wouldn't, but he knows Katniss isn't the kind to stand aside at a moment like this.

"Yes, she _is_ yours," Marvel says, "and it is _your_ message she was to deliver to Yankee bastards!"

Katniss stops, and Peeta feels his heart stop with her. "What?" Katniss breathes.

Marvel looks at her, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk. "That's right." He looks at Crane. "I found the eggs the girl intended to trade for strawberries, or so she says. But I didn't find many actual eggs — only empty eggshells, with information for the Union written on notes hidden inside."

And he pulls a half-crushed egg from his jacket pocket, a note clearly peaking out.

The whole lobby stares at it, and Peeta looks at Katniss for a split-second before he lunges towards Rue. "Did you know that?" he shouts, spit flying from his lips. He clutches her shoulders, and she shakes her head, but he steels himself, and he smacks her across the face. "Answer me, dammit!"

"Peeta!" Katniss exclaims, aghast.

"I didn't!" Rue cries. "I swear it! From their tops, the eggs didn't look like emptied shells! They didn't! I had no idea, Mr. Mellark, I swear I didn't!" And she starts to cry, looking to Katniss, as if for help. "I didn't, Mrs. Mellark, I didn't! I would never!" Her tears splatter hotly against his hand.

He stares down at her, keeps his face hard, and finally he shoves her from his grasp. He looks at Marvel and Crane. His breath comes out slow and heavy and strained "My slave isn't a spy," he says, "everyone knows she trades for the strawberries my wife loves, anyone could've tried to —"

"Bull," Marvel breathes. "She _is_ a traitor, and so is your precious little wife."

Peeta whips out his revolver, and Marvel lifts his, and Crane snarls, furious. "Enough!"

He looks at Rue for an endless moment. "Let me see the note." He holds a hand out to Marvel, who doesn't move, who doesn't even look at Crane. "I said let me see that note, Corporal! And lower your blamed revolver before I shoot it from your hand myself. And you too, Mellark."

Peeta slowly lowers his revolver.

At least he is between them now, between Marvel and Rue, between Marvel and Katniss.

Marvel follows suit, but he doesn't take his eyes off Peeta as he hands the egg to Crane. Peeta risks a look around the lobby, to Arthur near the front doors, to Nick beside the ballroom door, to Abraham with his own hand on his own revolver, and Abe nods at Peeta, as if in solidarity.

"And you knew nothing, girl?" Crane asks, face stony as he looks at Rue, the note crumpled in his hand. She nods, still tearful, looking at Katniss. Crane steps towards her. "I should shoot you for your pure stupidity, then." And he _spits_ at her. She flinches back. Crane looks at Katniss, and Peeta doesn't like the _way_ he looks at her, the suspicion in his eyes, because all the little incidents involve her, don't they? And Crane knows that, and he isn't stupid. "And you were equally as oblivious, were you, Mrs. Mellark?" The words are edged in something bad, something _very_ bad.

"Yes, sir," she whispers. "And my girl wouldn't do that. She wouldn't betray me. She wouldn't."

"_Bull_!" Marvel roars. "She is a spy, General, and her slave helps her! The evidence is undeniable!"

"Call my wife a spy one more time," Peeta dares, raising his revolver. Marvel starts to lift his.

And Crane tears out his own revolver and fires it at the ceiling, sending plaster crashing to the ground. "This is _my_ hotel!" Crane roars. "I am in charge, and y'all better damn well respect that!"

No one says a word.

"General," Peeta starts, "Corporal Davis lost his wife. He is upset, and he is right to be vigilant for still more traitors in our midst. But my slave is a loyal slave, raised in my own house, raised like family, and she would not betray me. She would _not_. And as for my wife —" He looks at Marvel.

"His wife is a spy, sir," Marvel spits, "no matter how adamantly he denies it."

"No, sir, do not confuse our wives, for mine is not some _covetous_ woman, easily bought with pretty pearls and silks sashes, able to betray her country on a whim." He turns to Crane. "It is in her blood and in her bones, her devotion to Virginia. She was born to a coal miner, she was raised on Virginia soil, and she would die to defend the land and the life she loves from invading Yanks."

"If not your slave," Crane says slowly, "if not your wife, _who_?"

Peeta looks at Rue. He can't offer up an innocent scapegoat. But —

"Tell me, girl," Crane snaps at Rue. "The eggs you trade. Who could've tampered with them?"

Rue shakes her head a little. "Answer him," Peeta orders.

"I don't know!" Rue whimpers. "I don't! When we first arrived, Mrs. Abernathy asked me what Mrs. Mellark liked to eat best, and I told her that she loved strawberries, and Mrs. Abernathy said — she said that we must trade for those, and I was welcome to trade whatever I found in the kitchen. And I — I found eggs. The chickens make so many every single morning, and — and I collected half a dozen, put them in a basket, and meant to deliver them yesterday, but Mr. Mellark arrived, and Mrs. Mellark wanted me to wash his coat, and purchase him cigars, and help him —"

"She wasn't able to deliver the eggs yesterday, sir," Katniss breaks in. "They would've been left in the kitchen unattended all afternoon yesterday. After all, who would suspect someone to tamper with _eggs_?" She takes another step down, closer to Rue, and she looks imploringly at Crane.

"And it is true, sir," Mrs. Abernathy says suddenly, stepping out, "that I asked Rue what it is we could do to make Mrs. Mellark happier, what food she loved best, and I told Rue she was welcome to trade whatever she wanted for her mistress. It all true, sir, I assure you as a Christian woman."

Slowly, Crane nods. "I want to find out who —"

"No!" Marvel shouts. "It is that damn woman! Don't be fucking blind!" And he raises his revolver, points it right at Katniss, and Peeta lunges at him the same moment the revolver fires.

Mrs. Abernathy screams.

Peeta pulls the revolver from Marvel and slams the butt into his face, even as he looks wildly at the stairs, where Katniss stands pressed against the banister, her face white. Marvel missed. Peeta reminds himself to breathe. He stands, his own revolver aimed at Marvel. All around the lobby, the other soldiers start to mutter, but Peeta looks at Crane, absolutely crazed with fury.

"I will not stand for this another minute!" he shouts, silencing the lobby. "Corporal Davis, you just purchased yourself a ticket to a court-martial, and you better thank your God that I do not shoot you myself right at this moment, you disobedient prick!"

Marvel only clutches his bloody nose, silent.

Peeta steps back, lowering his own revolver, but it is too late. Crane is already turning on him.

"And _you_, Lieut. Mellark," he snaps. "I thought I made it clear already that I wasn't about to stand for any more blatant stupidity from you! I don't care what you say about your wife or your slave! If you cannot provide me with the person who_ is_ the infernal traitor responsible for this —" And he waves the crushed egg pieces and the crumpled note in the air. "— I will see you are privileged with a court-martial all your own, and your wife and your slave will be deader than —"

"It was I."

Peeta spins around, and Crane is so startled his mouth hangs open a little. But the tall, slim girl, a servant, her thick red hair tightly clipped back, her face like a fox, blinks unflinchingly at Crane.

"I saw Rue deliver the eggs almost every morning without fail. I told the soldier to whom I report that a little slave girl would deliver eggs this morning, and the information he wanted would be hidden in them. It was simple. And it would've worked." She holds her head high, almost scornful.

Peeta doesn't understand.

He wants to look at Katniss for some explanation, but he knows he cannot look too confused.

"But your mad little corporal discovered it," the girl continues, "and I won't let you hunt me down like an animal. I am not ashamed. I will not deny it. I am your spy. And I am proud to admit that I am loyal to our true president, to our true country, rather than to wealthy fools who started a war that they expect those they suppress to fight for them so they can stay wealthy fools." She sneers.

Crane lifts his revolver. "I think we need to have a talk," he says, voice tight, lip curling in hatred.

"So I can betray my true countrymen?" the girl asks. "I don't think so."

And she lifts the revolver to her temple, and so many soldiers try to stop her, but no one can.

Peeta winches, looking away, when her brains splatter across the floor. The entire lobby turns chaotic. Crane screams in fury, and he drags Rue to her feet. "You will tell me exactly where you take those damn eggs, d'you hear me?" He starts to pull her from the lobby, barking orders at soldiers as he disappears, orders to tie up that fucking corporal and to clean up that fucking mess.

Peeta stares after him. If he loses his temper, he could very well shoot Rue, and —

He looks to the stairs, to Katniss, and her worried eyes meet his. She starts to stumble down the last few stairs, and Peeta meets her at the bottom, reaches for her, and she surges into him, clutches him, her fingers curling into his jacket, her whole body trembling as he wraps his arms around her.

He doesn't understand what just happened, but he is alive, and Katniss is alive, and Rue is alive.

And he will make sure they all _stay_ alive.

**tbc.**

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><p>an: So I waffled over it for a while, and I finally decided to let Rue live. I just couldn't bring myself to kill her. But I reserve the right to change my mind! You never know what is still to come, after all. And, um, now, I have some bad news. I won't be able to update for at least three weeks, because I'm about to jet off on a three week vacation. I should've realized when I started this story that it would be interrupted by my spring break, but I didn't think about that, and I apologize. I tried to end this chapter a note that was a little less suspenseful than I usually like, and I will definitely try to update as soon as I possibly can.


	6. Chapter 6

_a/n: this took even longer than I promised, as it took me a little while to start writing once I returned from vacation, and this chapter wasn't my favorite, so I dragged my feet writing it, but I'm pretty pleased with the end result, and I hope it was worth the wait :)_

* * *

><p>Her scream jolts him awake.<p>

He scrambles to his feet in panic, hand already on his musket, but the dark room holds no enemies, and he sets aside his musket as he moves to the bed, unsure how to wake Katniss from whatever nightmare traps her. She whimpers a little, twisting in the sheets, hair sticking to her forehead with sweat. He kneels beside the bed, touching her arms softly. "Katniss," he murmurs, "wake up."

She shouts, a sob caught in her throat, and her arm starts to flail wildly, trapped in her nightmare.

He catches her wrist, and he cannot help but tug her to him, desperate to calm her, to wake her, to comfort her. She folds into his arms, her whole body tensing for a moment, but her whispers her name, tells her it is only a nightmare, and he can feel her relax against him, her breathing harsh.

"I could see it in her eyes," Katniss whispers. "Dead. Like that soldier."

He rubs her back, repeats that it was only a nightmare, and she slowly extracts herself from him.

He is on her knees between her legs, and he keeps his arms on her waist, afraid to release her lest another nightmare try to claim her, even now. She runs a shaky hand through her hair, loose around her shoulders. He knows the nightmare was about Rue. She doesn't have to explain that.

But Rue is fine.

Crane left bruises on her arms and face, and he absolutely terrified her, but he let her loose at last, and he sent soldiers to stake out the market where she claimed to trade for strawberries. "I didn't know where else to say," she said. "I couldn't tell him the truth, because that would led him to —"

"You did exactly as you should," Katniss replied, and she cuddled Rue closer, rocking her a little, assuring her that it would all be alright, that Rue was safe, and Peeta could only nod, still shaken.

Rue is fine. Asleep in the kitchens, safe. For now.

The threat hasn't really passed.

"I should — I apologize," Katniss starts, and she draws back from him entirely, pulling her legs up onto the bed, crawling away. She won't look at him. "I didn't meant to wake you," she says. He wants to pull her back, to kiss her softly, to stroke her hair, to tell her that she need not apologize.

But it isn't his place; he is her friend, at most, and he will not overstep that. He moves back, away from the bed, from her. "I don't mind," he murmurs. "Not at all." And he smiles at her, but she is already curled up under the sheets, her back to him. He returns to his makeshift bed on the floor.

"We cannot spy any longer," Katniss says. "It is too dangerous. We cannot risk it."

"We won't," he says. "It isn't worth our lives."

She doesn't respond, and he waits to hear her breathing even out. "I don't think I would've had the courage to do what that woman did," she whispers suddenly, her voice somehow closer in the dark. "I don't even know her name. And I cannot imagine why she did what she did, protecting us, _saving_ us, unless it was not _about_ us. Maybe she did not even know we were spies. Maybe she spoke the truth she believed. She saw that Rue delivered eggs every day, and she took advantage."

"Maybe," he says. It makes sense. He can't think of another explanation. "And we likely are not the only spies still in the Capitol," he says. There's Haymitch, for one. And, really, how would they know who is or isn't a spy? What about Nick or Arthur? He would never suspect them, but they would never suspect him, would they? The other servants could be spies, too. Or Cato and Clove.

He almost laughs at himself.

"But _we_ won't spy any longer," Katniss repeats, as if to convince herself. "At least not for a while."

"And we'll be fine," he says. He needs to say it. To believe it. He needs her to believe it.

He won't let anything happen to her.

He can't fall asleep, not even after he hears Katniss finally drift off.

He told Katniss they would be safest together in the Capitol. Is that true? If they ran, took Rue and fled north, they would surely be safer than trapped in this hotel. If they ran, though, they could no longer spy. But they can no longer spy as it is. His sleep is restless, and he is loath to leave Katniss when morning arrives far too quickly, but he must run the drills, and Katniss can handle herself.

It isn't as if Effie poses any threat.

He returns to the Capitol as soon as he can, and he finds Katniss cross-stitching pillows with Mrs. Abernathy, who chatters happily as Katniss frowns at her pillow. The distaste on her face almost makes him laugh aloud. He moves into the room, slipping his cap off, and Mrs. Abernathy stops mid-sentence. "Oh, Mr. Mellark! Have a seat! You look so tired, you poor dear. It is _dreadfully_ hot outside, and to think that you work out in that heat for _hours _just hurts my little old heart."

"A soldier must do what his country requires, Mrs. Abernathy," Peeta replies, smiling, and he moves to stand behind Katniss. The letters in her cross-stitch are crooked. She tilts her head up to look at him, and her lips are pursued, as if she dares him to say a word about those crooked letters.

"I think that might be the most beautiful cross-stitch I've ever seen, sweetheart," he says, "hand to God." And she narrows her eyes at him, but he only taps her nose and winks at Mrs. Abernathy.

Mrs. Abernathy sighs loudly, pressing a hand to her heart.

"I can sew what _needs_ to be sewn," Katniss snaps, even as he moves to sit on the settee beside her and her eyes scan over his uniform. "Take, for example," she says, "the cuff on your frock coat. Here. Give it here." She holds out her hand, her cross-stitch abandoned. He looks at his left cuff.

He looks at her. "My coat?" he asks, surprised. The cuffs on uniforms are always a little frayed.

"It is torn," she insists, impatient. "A lieutenant cannot have a ratty frock coat. Give it here."

He shrugs, but he unfastens his coat and hands it over. She picks out dark thread from the spool box, her cross-stitch pillow completely abandoned, and she bites her tongue between her teeth as she starts to work. He smiles at the sight. This is what Katniss likes to do. Something useful.

"Oh, I must surely have stitched enough for the morning," Mrs. Abernathy announces suddenly.

Peeta looks at her in surprise, but she is already moving to her feet, and he stands as well.

"I'll clear out, shall I?" she says, smiling brightly and tucking her unfinished pillow into a small basket beside her chair. She hesitates for a moment, touching a hand to his arm, looking as if she wants to say something, but she doesn't; she only quits the parlor with a small, affectionate smile.

Peeta looks back at Katniss. "How was your morning?" he finally asks.

"Fine," Katniss says, sighing. "If it were for me to decide, I would hole up in my room with Rue all day." She carefully starts to do small circular stitches along the cuff edge. "But that is an impossible wish, of course," she continues, voice harder, "I would not want to cause suspicion, after all." She looks over at him. "I thought Mrs. Abernathy would be the best company, even if she wanted me to cross-stitch pillows with her." Her nose scrunches up, and he chuckles a little.

"I have never particularly loved cross-stitched pillows," he says, indulgent.

"Me, neither," Katniss replies. She nips the thread with her teeth, and she looks over her work before she holds the coat out. "There." He smiles, but he isn't sure she notices. "I'm not meant to be a Southern lady, Peeta," she says. "The dresses, the hair, the pointless tasks, always watched. I feel as if I am a trapped animal on display in a zoo. I miss _freedom_, the forest, and —" She stops.

He hates how forlorn her voice is.

"It will not last forever," he says softly.

She nods a little, and he can see the words are no real comfort, but she is already on her feet. "It is nearly lunch," she says. "We can easily slip into the kitchen to see Rue." He stands, pulling his coat back on, and she hooks her arm through his before they leave the little sanctity the parlor provides.

Rue is tense, terror edging her every movement, and the bruises that circle her wrists and color her jaw look even worse than they did yesterday, but Katniss finds little ways to comfort Rue as they eat, taking every opportunity she has when the servants are preoccupied to comfort Rue, to kiss her on the temple, to tease her softly, poking her stomach, tugging on her braid, playfully nudging her.

Rue calms a little under the affection, and all Peeta can think is that the only thing that could possibly be better for Rue is to send her somewhere else, somewhere safe. Is it possible to do that?

He isn't sure where he might send her, but if he can find _somewhere_, and he can convince Katniss to help him convince Rue, surely it would be possible. And he knows Katniss will agree with him.

He mentions it that afternoon, speaking under his voice as he sits in the garden with her and watches her fruitlessly try to prune the dead flowers. "But to where?" Katniss asks. "She can't return to your mother or even stay with my sister. I have no other friends, and we can't simply send her north without a thought." She sits back on her heels, tilting her head up so he can see her face under her hat. "We are all she has. To whom could we possibly send her?" And she is right.

"She isn't safe here," Peeta says, frustrated.

"Neither are we," Katniss replies. She looks at the Capitol, at the closed door. "Clove Ableman follows me almost everywhere, Peeta. Follow us, even. Have you noticed her? She came into the kitchen earlier. And she pretends she wants to be my friend before she peppers me with questions about you and us and why I came her in the first place. She is a nark for Crane, I'm sure of it."

Peeta stares at the Capitol too, Clove somewhere inside it, along with Crane, and Marvel, and so many others who would kill Peeta and Katniss and Rue without a second thought. "It is a chance to convince Crane we are innocent," he says at last. "Let her follow us. Let her ask questions. If we act as if we have nothing to hide, if we do not let her find us out, she will let off at some point."

Katniss nods.

A few hours later, he sits across from Clove Ableman at dinner, and he smiles his best.

The entire table is tense, even more so than last night, because Crane is with them tonight, his face pinched. Abraham, Arthur, and Nick try to make small talk, to keep the table entertained, but they do so with little success. Peeta nearly chokes on his soup when Mrs. Abernathy suddenly gasps.

"Oh, I have the most wonderful idea!" she exclaims.

She starts to smack Mr. Abernathy on the arm. "And it's to hit me?" he exclaims, annoyed.

"We must do it, my dear, we absolutely must!"

"Do what, Mrs. Abernathy?" Nick asks.

Mrs. Abernathy puffs her chest out, almost rising in her seat, looking delighted. "With the weather so awful and the whole Capitol such a dreary place these days, it is exactly what we need." She looks around the table, so happy with herself. "A _charity _ball! The Capitol will host a benefit for our wounded boys! Mrs. Ramsey told me that with those awful blockades the hospitals are all undersupplied. And we haven't held any benefits since last winter! Oh, we must do it! We must!"

No one says anything for a moment.

"I think that sounds like a _wonderful_ idea, Mrs. Abernathy," Clove finally announces.

Mrs. Abernathy almost squeals, clapping her hands a little. "You must help me plan it!" she declares, "and you, too, Mrs. Mellark!" She looks happily at Katniss, who manages a tight smile.

She waits until they are alone in her room to rant against the very suggestion that they host a ball while a war rages. "A _benefit_ ball," she says. "Lovely. If they care so much for their soldiers, why do they not simply donate their pearls and silk dresses, rather than hold a _party_ for themselves?"

"A benefit ball will distract Clove for a while," he offers, "and maybe even Crane, too."

Katniss doesn't look convinced; she is still furious when he leaves to take count.

She is asleep when he arrives back, a frown on her face. He hasn't yet fallen asleep himself when she starts to whimper, nightmares flickering across he face, her hands curling into fists around her sheets. He moves to the bed, touching her arm, whispering her name, trying to wake her. She shouts suddenly, indecipherable words that stick in her throat, sweat beading on her forehead.

"It is only a nightmare," he murmurs. But she is too lost, thrashing in twisted sheets, and he climbs onto the bed, reaches for her, desperate to calm her, and he tugs her close, trapping her arms against his chest, whispering her name. She lets out a sudden sob and sinks into his arms, awake.

The only sound for a moment are the crickets outside and her labored breaths inside.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs at last. "I didn't mean to —"

"No," he says, rubbing her back. "No, do not apologize for a nightmare, Katniss." She seems so impossibly small right now, curled against him, her careful defenses all abandoned if only for a few brief moments, her bare arms flushed as they are pressed to his chest, her hair tickling his chin.

But she starts to pull away from him as she finally reigns in her emotions, and he releases her and shifts further down the bed, careful not to crowd her. He can't see a blush in her cheeks, not in the dark, but the way she ducks her head is plenty indication enough, and he feels his own face flush.

He might tell himself that she is his friend, only his friend, and he wanted only to comfort his friend after a terrible nightmare, but he cannot deny that his friend is a beautiful woman, a beautiful woman he loves desperately, and her nightgown is loose and light on her slim frame, and her bare skin is warm and soft, and she is so close to him, her heart so fragile, and these are rare moments, moments when she is too sleepy and too scared to remember to be reserved, to be suspicious, to protect her heart with a steely scowl. And he loves her even more during these precious moments.

"Peeta," she says. She hesitates. "Thank you."

It is even harder to fall asleep after that.

Katniss is still asleep when he wakes for drills, and he watches her a moment, her mouth open a little, drool on her chin. He smiles to himself, reaches down, brushes his thumb under her lip, and he dresses quietly, letting her have as much asleep as she can before Effie charges into the room.

The heat outside makes sweat prickle down his neck before he so much as walks two blocks.

"Looking a bit tuckered out, Peet," Arthur says, wiping sweat off his face with a kerchief. "Ain't that wife lookin' after you? Or, eh, is that the problem? She lookin' after you _too_ well?" He smirks.

"Just got lots on my mind is all," Peeta replies.

The camp comes into the view ahead, soldiers half-dressed and milling around their tents.

"I like her," Arthur adds, "your girl. Sweetheart like that is about as scarce as hen's teeth."

Peeta smiles. He doesn't want to talk about Katniss with someone she doesn't even really know. It seems like a betrayal. But Arthur obviously wants to talk about Katniss, or, more likely, about —

"Nasty business that happened with Marv, ain't it?" Arthur continues. "Must've been hard for your old lady, huh? Felt pretty bad for her myself. Girl looked like chalk when Marvel made that big stink, waving his musket all about and spitting them accusations like he was some sorta gumshoe."

His words are painted with questions he is afraid to ask outright.

Peeta is surprised Arthur didn't want to talk about it all yesterday morning, to be honest.

"Gave her nightmares," Peeta says. It isn't that he _wants_ to talk about it, but the more people who believe Katniss and Rue were the victims in all that, the better. And they _were_ the victims in all that.

Arthur shakes his head, sympathetic.

"And this — this is just like I told y'all," Peeta adds, words careful, "this is why I didn't want anybody to know about her. This is why I tried to keep her as distant from this war as I could."

"A'course," Arthur says, nodding. "No decent woman ought to be mixed up in it."

"But she was not truly safe at home," Peeta says, "not with Yanks opening the ball all afternoon, shooting and spitting and scaring everybody, so she came to stay with Mrs. Abernathy. And she thought she would be just a mite safer but look what happened. She happened upon Mrs. Davis, and her dratted husband lost his mind 'cause Katniss only did right as a Christian woman."

"Well, Marvel has himself a court martial to answer to now, doesn't he?" Arthur says. "Got his."

Peeta nods, but — "I just don't want everyone to think ill of her." He puts a strain in his voice.

"Hey, nobody does, Peet. Nobody. We all know that Marv is loony. Me and John and Nick, we all talked about it last night. Absolutely loony, he is. Always has been. And your girl, now, she is what we fight for. Right? Like my sweet old woman, Addy. This war is to protect them, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Peeta says, nodding, "of course."

The conversation ends, Arthur finally satisfied, and they start drills, already late. As Arthur starts to bellow at the soldiers, Peeta reassures himself with the knowledge that his friends are still his friends; Marvel failed to cast any lasting doubt, at least among the other soldiers. A small comfort.

The drills last until the heat is simply too much to bear, and the stale air inside the Capitol is wonderful compared to the sweltering, humid heat outside. He finds Katniss in the same parlor as the day before, once more with Mrs. Abernathy but this time also with Clove, who looks annoyed at his intrusion. He is quickly shooed from the room, because they have a charity to plan, after all.

He just catches the face that Katniss makes as the door shuts behind him, and he coughs to hide his laughter. His next thought is to find Rue, but Abraham finds him first, and he is talked into playing poker. It is more subdued than usual, and he lets Nick blame it on the blasted heat. "A man can forget his love for Virginia on day like this," Nick says, throwing his cards down with a flourish.

Peeta throws in his lot that round, too, and he sits out the next.

He pulls out scrap paper from his pocket, instead, and some chalk and pencil stubs, and he draws what he can remember best about home. The boys start to josh him, but this is an old routine with them all. Peeta draws pictures to pass time, John smells the letters his wife writes, Nick sings awful ballads when he is too pissed on moonshine; they have to stay human somehow, don't they?

Katniss doesn't have a nightmare that night, or the next night. But he isn't surprised when her muffled scream wakes him the following night, when he moves to her bed to find her sweating and shaking in her sleep, her face contorted. He gathers her into his arms without a second thought.

It only takes a few minutes, a few, soft whispered reassurances, and she wakes, panting, scared.

"Just a nightmare," she murmurs into his shirt, breathless.

"Yes," he says. "Just a nightmare."

She hiccoughs, and he rubs her back, and he waits for her to calm down, to slip away from him.

"Peeta," she whispers, "I — I want to go home." The words are thick with tears. "And I am so scared and so helpless and I just — I just want to go home _so much_, Peeta. I want to go home."

"I know," he murmurs, heart breaking a little. "And we will. This war won't last forever. It won't."

She doesn't respond, but she makes no move to draw back from him, and he continues to rub her back, rocking a little, because it is all he can think to do, the best comfort he can possibly offer her.

"I hate this place," she confesses, voice thick. "I hate it."

"Me, too," he says. She sniffs. And he remembers. "I drew something for you," he says.

She turns her head to look at him. "I — I don't — you _drew_ something for me?

He nods, pulling away from her to stumble through the dark for his coat, for the drawings.

She flicks on the gas lamp, casting shadows on the wall as yellow light bathes the bed.

He finds the pictures, unfolds them carefully, smoothing out the creases, and kneels beside the bed, offering the drawings to her. "It isn't much," he warns, shy. "I draw a little when I have time, and I thought, after you talked about home yesterday, about how you missed the woods — I thought I might try to do what I could to — to bring a small piece of home to you. It isn't much, truly, but I thought —" He flushes in the soft, dim light, a little embarrassed. "I thought you might like them."

She bites her lip, eyes raking across the drawings. "This is the bakery," she says. "And is that Madge? It is." She smiles. "You drew her so well. And all the cakes in the window, too — Prim always loved to stand at the window and look at all the cakes." Her voice is soft and wistful.

But another smile flickers across her face as she looks at the next picture, his attempt to draw the woods. He never ventured into them himself, but he drew the trees that line the edge, the mountains in the background, the dandelions that dot the grass. The shading is a little off, but Katniss doesn't seem to notice. "It looks perfect," she says. "How can you draw so well with only a pencil?"

He shrugs, dropping her bright gaze, only for his eyes to fly back to her when she gasps a little.

The third picture. Her house, with the goat out front and little Miss Prim sitting on the porch steps.

Her smile is breathless, and her fingers hover over the page, over Prim, as if to touch her, before she looks at Peeta. "Thank you," she whispers. "Thank you for these. I — I like them very much."

Her eyes drift back to the pictures, hair falling into her face, and he can't help himself.

He reaches out, brushing the hair from her face, tucking a lock behind her ear. "These are difficult times, Katniss, and it seems as if it will always be this difficult, as if the war shall never end, as if the Union shall never prevail. I've felt that way more days than I count since the war started." He takes her hand, runs his thumb lightly over her knuckles. "But this war really will not last forever."

"Trapped in this hotel," she says, "it sometimes feels as if it just might."

He shakes his head. "No. It will not last forever. We will not be trapped forever. And — and we _could_ run, and maybe we would be safer if we did. But we do not need to run, to hide, to put our whole families at risk. We must only keep our heads bowed, our noses clean, and we will escape notice. And maybe we will even have the chance to help the Union at least once more. But no matter what, sooner or later, the war _will_ end. We will see it end. We will see the Union prevail. And we will return home. It is hard to believe, but you must. Have faith. Believe me. Trust me."

She nods. "Alright," she whispers. And she lifts his hand to her mouth as if to kiss his knuckles, but she doesn't; instead, turning his hand, letting his fingers brush her face, she presses a sweet kiss to his palm. His breath catches, and he can feel her warm lips curl in a smile against his hand.

But she releases his hand in the next moment.

It is quiet as she moves back under the sheets and he moves back to his makeshift bed.

The lamp flickers off, and it is quiet. "Peeta," she murmurs, "I do trust you."

"I'm glad."

"I do," she repeats, almost earnest. "I was — I was _reserved_ at first, but I do trust you. I do."

He smiles, and he falls asleep to the thought that maybe, somehow, someway, when they finally do return home, she might want to take his name for real. Kiss him for real. Love him for real. Maybe.

* * *

><p>She <em>does<em> trust him, she won't try to deny that.

She trusts this sweet, shy man who always knows what to say, who wants to fight for what is right, who so fiercely protects Rue, who draws Katniss pictures to make her feel better. She does.

And she doesn't know how she would survive in the Capitol without him.

The muggy summer weeks pass into autumn easily, and they work out a routine to stay alive.

Her mornings aren't much changed; Peeta is expected to drill the soldiers, and Katniss is left to be victim to a tireless Effie, but throughout the afternoon she keeps close to Peeta, and she tries to draw as little attention to herself as she can. It proves to be an almost impossible task, however.

All the soldiers know who she is and the part she played in the spectacle with Marvel, and she can feel eyes on her wherever she walks, whether inside the Capitol or out on the street, whether Peeta is beside her or is taking count, as he must every night. It is certainly not safe to try to spy for the Union. But that leaves her unsettled, leaves her without any purpose for to seemingly endless days.

Is she really expected to live like this until the war ends, days filled with nothing other than plans for an idiotic charity ball? The thought makes her stomach hurt, and hurt wraps around her heart when she thinks about her abandoned home, about Prim, about Gale, about all that she left behind.

August dawns, and Katniss receives her first letter from Madge.

She is surprised; she assumed that Madge wouldn't risk a letter sent from the town Katniss fled.

But it is written cautiously, sent through Mrs. Abernathy, careful not to reveal for whom the letter is truly intended. It is even starts simply _to my dearest friend_, and Madge so causally mentions various happenings around town, telling her unnamed recipient the latest news, such as that the young Ms. Prim Everdeen is kept safe and sound with her future mother-in-law, Mrs. Hawthorne.

Prim is safe.

And so is Gale. He continues to fight for the Confederacy, Madge writes, but he is fed and clothed better than most, and he returns home to look after his family often. Katniss reads those few lines at least a dozen times, letting them calm her. Prim is safe, and Gale is alive, and everything is fine.

For now, at least. Always just for now, she cannot forget that.

It makes her desperate for another letter, for still more information.

She thinks about what Peeta promised. They need only survive this war, and home awaits.

But what kind of home? The home she left? Surely not.

She is already a changed person. Gale will be, too, and so will Prim, and Madge as well. Her town will be torn apart; her house might no longer stand. Those pictures from Peeta might be all that really is left, pencil remnants from a lost life. She will not be able to return her old life, looking after her sister, hunting for their supper, keeping to herself. Her whole world will be too different.

And what about Peeta? What awaits him? A life at the bakery, as if nothing changed? A girl?

But the way that Madge and Rue talk, the story that Peeta told, it all seems to imply that —

She cannot think about that. It is foolish. This is all a ruse, after all, even if he clearly holds some unfathomable fondness for her, enough to forgive so easily a stolen name, to remember a dress she wore and a song she sang when they were children, to draw her pictures just to make her smile.

She simply cannot think about all that, not in the middle of a war.

And, besides, as Mrs. Abernathy likes to remind her, a charity event cannot plan itself.

She scoffs to herself and looks at the blank invitation she is expected to address to all the ladies still in Winchester. How much more money could have been sent to the brave boys in battle if they had not decided to add lace edges to these invitations? Katniss shakes her head. This is a waste of time.

Maybe she can write Madge instead. She cannot invite Madge to the ball, of course, but she can let her friend know that she is well and that Peeta is well, too, is alive and safe. And that reminds her. She looks over at him, watches him for a moment as he draws. "Peeta," she starts, abandoning her silly invitations. "Have you written your brothers yet?" And his small, shy smile falters just a little.

She frowns. "No," she answers for him, "you haven't."

"Katniss," he starts.

"No," she says, "don't bellyache to me, Peeta Mellark. They deserve a letter. Right now. This instant." She roots through the desk for fresh paper. "I will not let you leave this room until you have written _both_ your brothers. It is cruel not to write. They believe you to be _dead_, Peeta!"

"And maybe they're safer that way," he mutters, but she won't hear it.

She thrusts the paper at him. "Write."

He takes the paper, and she stares at him until he actually starts to write. She is forced to return to her invitations, however, when Clove barges into the room, asking Katniss how far along she is, a sickly sweet smile on her face. "Peeta distracted me," Katniss defends, and Peeta offers a small, sheepish, apologetic smile. Clove simpers, offering to help, and sits before Katniss can stop her.

It seems Katniss cannot be allowed to escape Clove for even an hour.

A foot nudges hers. Peeta. She looks at him, but he only smiles at his letter, and she understands.

She bites her lip, tries to smile a little, too. A few minutes later, two more invitations finished, she stands, moves to Peeta, and is about to lean over his shoulder, maybe touch his shoulder, but he opens his arms, reaching for her, his eyes still on the letter, as if it is all so natural, and she slips into his lap. She hopes she doesn't look as uncomfortable as she feels. Peeta wraps an arm around her waist, and he continues to write. She places her own arm over his shoulders. That seems right.

"How do you spell arbitrary?" he asks.

"With a y at the end, not an ie," she says. She hesitates. And she takes his quill and writes the word herself. "Like that." He kisses her shoulder, and she smiles softly at him, and Clove watches it all.

"Are you writing home, Mr. Mellark?" Clove asks.

Peeta nods. "Just thought I would let my mother know we were safe in Winchester." He smiles.

"I am sure she will be so pleased to read it," Clove says, returning his smile. And she holds out more blank invitations to Katniss, who plasters a smile on her own face. More invitations. Great.

The ball cannot come soon enough, Katniss thinks; the sooner it comes, the sooner it will be over.

And the next week does pass quickly, the days filled with planning, the nights punctured with nightmares, Peeta the single pleasant constant. Katniss only sees Rue once, and it is a quick, unhappy visit, as Clove is right beside Katniss, because Clove is always right beside Katniss.

Katniss is locked in her room with Effie the entire afternoon before the ball. "And I do not want to hear a single protest from you," Effie warns. "Mr. James designed this dress _especially_ for you!"

And the dress _is_ beautiful, the fabric a soft red, but there is far too much of it. Her protests are easily ignored, of course, and she is stuffed into a hoop skirt before she is trapped in a dress with too many hooks and eyes to count. She doubts she will ever be able to take the dratted dress off.

"Just think how your Mr. Mellark will react," Effie says, threading ribbons into Katniss's curled, coifed hair, just to make her look a little more ridiculous. "The man deserves to see his wife look like a proper lady for at least _one_ night!" And she sighs, muttering something about that poor dear.

Katniss barely recognizes herself when Effie is finished, dolled up as she is.

Peeta meets her at the stairs, his face washed, his uniform clean and pressed, the brass buttons polished, shining. He bows and kisses her knuckles, and she feels a little flushed despite herself.

He holds out his hand, and she rests hers over his.

The ballroom overflows with officers in decorated uniforms and ladies in colorful dresses, ribbons and feathers and pearls in their hair, everyone talkative, dancing, happy, as if there isn't a war at all.

The war certainly asserted itself as they planned.

Mrs. Abernathy wanted a dinner, but the blockade and a surly Mr. Abernathy put a stop to that. Mrs. Abernathy would have to make do simply with patriotic Virginia water for the ladies and cider for the men, dancing for entertainment, and a raffle to wrangle a little more money from all the ladies. The tickets themselves already cost more money that Katniss herself could have afforded.

This is not her first dance, of course; the Undersees used to host balls every spring, and the church constantly held parties in the barnyard across the street. They were loud, crowded events, and Prim always begged Katniss to let her attend every singe one, which meant Katniss herself almost always attended every single one as well. And, to be fair, Katniss did enjoy the music, and the way Gale could so easily sweep her entirely off her feet as they danced, and how happily Prim laughed.

This is not like that. There is no Gale or Prim or even Madge at this dance; the music is too formal, the laughter in the air is too false, the ladies in the room are too friendly, and Katniss feels as if she is playing pretend. Peeta is the only anchor to the real world. She wants to press closer to him, or even simply to curl her fingers around his, but that would be terrible etiquette, according to Effie.

At least the dancing itself is no different.

Peeta bows and she curtsies, and he offers her his hand, the other resting lightly on her back, and the movements are simple, easy to follow, almost comforting, even. The first dance is even almost pleasant; Peeta introduces her opposite as Second Lieutenant Abraham Snyder, and Katniss likes the tall, thin man, clean shaven, his hair colored like straw, his smile pleasant. He tells her he admires her husband, and he compliments her dress, and he laughs when she says she doesn't.

The second dance is not nearly so pleasant; she is somehow opposite General Crane. Katniss has never met his partner, a large woman with a red face, no neck, and an upturned nose, but she would much rather dance with her than with Crane, whose thin smile makes her stomach turn.

"It is rare to find a woman who dances with such grace, Mrs. Mellark," he says, hand pressed to hers. She circles, Peeta touches her back lightly, his eyes sympathetic, and she circles around, touching hands with Crane. "I do not suppose I could convince you to promise me a dance as your partner before the evening ends?' he asks. And she smiles, demure, but does not answer. The moment the dance ends, Peeta finds her hand, and they make an escape to the tables at the far wall.

She curls her fingers around his as they walk, never mind whatever etiquette Effie taught.

"I think I am ready for this ball to end," Katniss declares, and she accepts the water he offers, because God forbid ladies drink cider, and lemonade, tea, and coffee were unavailable even to a desperate Mrs. Abernathy. Across the room, she can see Mrs. Abernathy with Clove and Cato.

What are the chances she can avoid them all for the entire night?

"Another hour, and we can make excuses," Peeta replies. "I have to take count tonight, after all."

He smiles, and he squeezes her hand. She stares at him for a moment. And she is absolutely certain that this defies proper etiquette as well, but she moves as close to him as she can in her outrageous dress, and she kisses him. He is startled, and she feels her cheeks blaze, but her eyes catch his smile, and he leans forward just enough to steal another kiss before she can step back, flushed.

She sips her patriotic Virginia water, and she spots Mrs. Abernathy, who winks at Katniss.

Katniss finds herself angry at the gesture, angry that they are _always_ watched.

She looks at Peeta, about to ask him if there is any chance they might make excuses _now_, but she hesitates when she sees him staring at his shoes, a different smile, sadder, resigned. He looks up, however, and she wonders if she imagined the moment as he holds out his hand, an easy smile on his face now. "They are about to do a quatrain," he says. "I promise not to put us opposite Crane."

She nods, rests her hand over his, and lets him walk her back into the crowd.

The next hour passes far too slowly. She is unable to refuse a dance with Cato Ableman, who is handsome and charming and every bit the man who would marry Clove, and every time he speaks, his hand on her back, she remembers the crying, pleading, terrified woman he so carelessly killed.

The moment the song ends, Peeta is at her side, his hand on her back, whisking her away from Cato with a polite smile and talk about refreshments. "Are you alright?" he murmurs, and she only nods.

"But I could use something other than delicious _patriotic_ water," she says, nodding at his cider.

"This is cider," Peeta says, hesitant. "It's alcoholic."

"Exactly," Katniss replies, and Peeta laughs, but he pours a little cider into her empty water glass. She takes a single sip, the taste bittersweet, before she hears a familiar laugh, and Mr. Snyder appears.

"I saw that, Mrs. Mellark," he says.

"I have not the faintest idea what you mean," she replies, taking another sip.

"A woman after my own heart," he declares. "I am only sorry Mr. Mellark found you first."

She likes Mr. Snyder, she does, but she does not want to dance with him any more than she does with anyone else, and she lets Peeta talk with him. She starts to circle the room with Peeta after that, moving too quickly to let anyone have the chance to request a dance with her. Peeta easily makes the same conversation with a dozen different people, and at long last the raffle starts.

Mrs. Abernathy introduces herself to everyone and receives polite applause before she starts the raffle with a dollhouse that her sister donated. Katniss does not bother to pay too much attention to the various sales. All she knows is that as soon as the raffle finishes, they can make their excuses.

A few minutes later, Mr. Abernathy makes a sense when he stands, clearly drunk, and bids on a lamp. Mrs. Abernathy already told him to bid on it, but Katniss doubts she wanted her husband to do so quite as loudly as he does. The older woman only smiles indulgently at her husband, and no one bids higher on the lamp Mrs. Abernathy wants for herself. Katniss watches Mr. Abernathy sink back into his seat, a flask in his hand. "Peeta," she murmurs, "how much do you know about Haymitch Abernathy?" She looks at Peeta. "He fought in the Mexican War, didn't he?" she asks.

Peeta nods. "He was a captain in the war, in fact. Pretty respected, too, or so I've been told."

"And when did you first meet him?" she asks, quieter. "Because you _did_ meet him before you came to the Capitol, didn't you?" She looks at him, and she can't believe she hasn't yet asked, not in all the time since he arrived at the Capitol, almost an entire month. What if Haymitch were a threat?

But that idea is almost laughable, even if Haymitch does know something he shouldn't about Peeta.

After all this time, if Haymitch wanted to harm Katniss or Peeta, he would have. Right?

"I did," Peeta says, and his voice is suddenly so careful. "He is retired now, but he is friends with, well, with the people who read my editorials, so to speak." He pauses, and she nods. She understands. Haymitch does know that Peeta is a spy, is friendly with the people to whom Peeta reports. But does that mean Haymitch is for the Union? Katniss always assumed Haymitch was simply for surviving, never mind all the rest. "He fought under Grant in the Mexican War."

Katniss frowns. She feels as if she is supposed to know who Grant is.

"Ulysses Grant," Peeta whispers, "the Union general. The one who took Vicksburg." He hesitates, and his voice is still lower, so low he barely even speaks. "I am not absolutely certain, but I suspect he might still keep in contact with Grant. Or he did, at least for a little while." He stops, sipping his cider, but he needn't say anything more. The message is clear. Haymitch is most likely a spy, too.

The raffle lasts another half an hour, and it takes still another half hour to make their way across the ballroom to sweet freedom, as someone new stops them every few feet to talk. Katniss is ready to collapse into bed the moment they reach their room, but she is still ensnared in her ridiculous dress.

"Peeta," she says, stopping him before he can leave to take count. "Is there anyway you can find Rue in the kitchens before you leave for count? I need her help to take off this absurd ensemble."

His eyes rake over her dress, and he nods. "Of course." She pretends not to see his blush.

She starts to pull the ribbons from her hair as he leaves, and she is almost finished when Rue slips quietly into the room. Rue asks her about the ball, and Katniss tries to make her smile as she describes how ridiculous all the women looked, and how she stole a little cider to drink from Peeta.

Rue giggles, and she helps free Katniss from the dress, folding the silk yards neatly as Katniss undoes her corset and takes her first deep breath all day. Rue sits on the bed, and she seems so especially small as she looks at Katniss. "I've missed you," she admits, and Katniss sits beside her.

"I've missed you, too," Katniss says, untying her garter straps and peeling off her stockings. She looks over at Rue, and her eyes linger on the fading bruises that still circle Rue's thin, bony wrists.

"I can barely sleep at night," Rue whispers, as if ashamed. "All the kitchen hands are kind to me, but they keep their distance, and every time I see General Crane, or any soldier —" She stops, her voice thick, strained with tears she refuses to cry, but she is only really a child, barely seventeen.

Katniss watches her for a moment.

"Rue," she starts, hesitant, "I haven't yet mentioned anything to Peeta, but we are both worried about you, and — and I believe your aunt Seeder moved to Missouri a few years ago, didn't she?"

Rue doesn't answer for a moment. "Yes," she finally says, "she did."

"But she is no longer in Missouri," Katniss says, a question she doesn't need answered.

"She is in Philadelphia," Rue says, nodding, "She ran away almost as soon as the war broke out. But you know that. She wrote to tell me she was safe last summer." She does not look at Katniss.

"And she wrote that you should join her," Katniss says. "But last summer you told me that you could not do so, because Mr. Mellark expected you to stay with me, and you would." She reaches forward and takes Rue's hand in hers. "Rue, we are not safe here. We are among merciless men, and they will not hesitate to kill us. But neither Peeta nor I cannot escape, not yet. Not for a while."

"I will not leave you," Rue whispers, insistent.

"No one would be suspicious if you left," Katniss continues. "We could say you were needed at home, and everyone would assume we simply wanted to forget what happened with Mr. Davis."

"No," Rue says, but her protest is not quite as fiery as it used to be. "I never knew my father, Katniss, and my mother died when I was young. And I love my aunt, I do, but I haven't lived with her since I was little — _you_ are my family, Katniss, you and Mr. Mellark. I won't abandon you."

"Rue," Katniss whispers, and she touches Rue on the face, cups her cheek. "No matter where you are," she says, "we will _always_ be your family. And do you know what that means? It does not mean that you must always look after us. It means that sometimes, Rue, you must let _us_ look after _you_. We cannot do that in this hotel, darling. I barely have the chance to see you during the day, and I worry for you all through the night. Let us look after you. Let us send you somewhere safe."

Rue looks at Katniss, and her bottom lip starts to tremble. "Oh, Rue," Katniss breathes, and she pulls Rue to her, hugs her, stroking her hair as Rue gasps a little and finally starts to cry. Katniss isn't sure how long they sit curled up together on the bed, but Peeta returns sooner or later, and his eyes are soft as he takes Rue gently by the hand. Rue stands, and Katniss softly kisses her cheek.

"I'll write my aunt Seeder," Rue whispers. Katniss nods.

Katniss doesn't bother to change into her nightgown when Peeta and Rue leave. She pulls the last few pins from her hair, and she curls up in the bed, pulling the sheets to her chin. It makes her heart ache to think that Rue will no longer be near to Katniss for the first time since the war started.

But it is truly for the best. Rue is not safe here, even less so than Katniss, because if Crane simply lost his temper, so frustrated as he is, Rue would be such an easy scapegoat, and Katniss cannot let Rue be left holding the bag, killed because Katniss chose to spy for the Union. She simply cannot.

The door opens and closes softly. "She is already asleep," Peeta murmurs. "She told me what you said. About letting us send her to Philadelphia to live with her aunt." He pauses. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Katniss whispers. "I love her, too."

"I know you do," he says, and his hand brushes her hair from her face, a soft, affectionate touch.

She turns her back to him to let him change in private, and she falls asleep almost as soon as he flicks off the lamp. But she doesn't stay asleep long; her nightmares feature Rue tonight, screaming at Katniss for help, attacked like Prim was attacked, dying like that weeping woman died, and Cato holds Katniss back, makes her watch as Crane chokes Rue, and chokes Prim, and chokes Peeta —

But it is only a nightmare. She screams herself awake, and she is already cradled against Peeta, who rocks her a little, whispering into her ear that it was only a nightmare, that she is alright, that Rue is alright, that everything is alright, and she closes her eyes and presses a little closer to him.

She ought to pull away, she thinks. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. Peeta easily dismisses it.

Still, she ought to pull back. Just another minute, she decides.

Her heart thuds inside her chest, and she can barely breathe, but Peeta rubs her back, and she focuses on that, on his chest warm and firm against her cheek, on the soft, familiar cadence in his voice as he reassures her. And she is so exhausted, tired from pretend, from worry, from the endless nightmares, but she can feel his heartbeat against her ear, and she is lulled back to sleep.

She wakes a second time when she feels her face on a cool pillow, and Peeta pulls the sheets over her, but they are cold. "No," she murmurs, rubbing her eyes a little. "Don't." And her hand catches his wrist. "Stay with me." She tugs on his arm, and she is too sleepy to hear what he says, but he climbs into bed beside her, wraps his arm around her waist, and she turns, cuddling against him.

She finds his heartbeat under her cheek, and she falls back asleep.

* * *

><p>The first snow that winter falls in large, fluffy flakes, the kind Peeta likes best.<p>

And as Katniss eats the roasted chestnuts he bought her, one arm hooked through his, he sees Plutarch Heavensbee. He almost does not believe his own eyes, but the large man, his bushy white beard, the way he pats his stomach a little as he walks — all unmistakable sights. It is Plutarch.

And Plutarch sees Peeta, and he starts down the street.

"Katniss," Peeta murmurs, "the man on his way to us. I — I _report_ to him." Katniss stills, a chestnut caught between front teeth, her eyes widening a little, but he can see she understands.

A moment later, Plutarch claps Peeta on the shoulder. "Lieutenant Mellark!" he greets, voice booming. "I had hoped I might come across you today!" His smile is wide, his red cheeks even redder in the cold, snow caught in his thick, bushy beard. Peeta smiles, pulling off his hat and straightening, as formality demands, but Plutarch only chuckles. "At ease, my boy. At ease. How are you? And who is this lovely lady?"

He smiles at Katniss, his expression warm, and Peeta can feel Katniss relax.

But this is bad. It is always bad when Plutarch feels the need to seek out Peeta.

"This is my wife," Peeta introduces, and Katniss curtsies and offers her hand to Plutarch, who bows and kisses her fingers with a flourish. "Mrs. Mellark, let me introduce General Heavensbee."

"A pleasure, General," Katniss says.

"Oh, it is all mine, dear lady," Plutarch replies. "But now I must confess to you — I knew not that our beloved lieutenant possessed a wife! Are you recently married? How bold in times like these!"

Peeta isn't sure what lie to tell Plutarch, but everyone in the Capitol believes that they were married a few months before the war, and maybe it is better to keep to the same story as much as he possibly can. "Actually, sir, we were married before the war," Peeta says. "Just a few months before I left."

"Really? You don't say. Well, well. Good for you. Good for you _both_." He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Now while I have you here with me, Lieutenant, I wonder if I could steal you from your little lady for only a few minutes — we've so much to catch up on! Would you hate me terribly for that, Mrs. Mellark?"

"No — no, of course not," Katniss says, but she is uneasy once more, eyes darting between Peeta and Plutarch.

Peeta starts to say he needs to walk Katniss back to the Capitol, but Plutarch already knows his mind, and he shouts for a soldier. "Albert! Ah, my boy, come, come! Bert, let me introduce you to First Lieutenant Peeta Mellark and his wife." The short man, even younger than Peeta, his face pockmarked and his smile kind, takes off his cap, nodding at them. "I must speak with the lieutenant," Plutarch continues, "but we cannot abandon his dear wife in the cold. Might you escort her back to the Capitol?"

Albert nods. "If she will let me, sir, I would be glad to keep her company."

"Excellent!" Plutarch exclaims, clapping his hands together.

And before Peeta can protest, he finds himself being led down the street that leads to the camps, Plutarch at his side, and Katniss is disappearing around the corner with Albert. She is fine, but —

"A wife, my boy?" Plutarch asks. "I thought you said you were unattached."

"As I recall," Peeta says, speaking carefully, "you only ever asked once, before you even revealed your own name, and, at the time, I thought you were at my house to see me whipped. I think you can imagine why I felt it mightn't be prudent to be entirely honest with you about my attachments."

It makes sense, he thinks, and Plutarch nods, accepts the excuse. Good.

Plutarch would likely keep the secret if Peeta revealed the truth, but he isn't about to take any possible risks, not where Katniss is concerned. As much as Peeta trusts Plutarch Heavensbee in matters dealing with the war, he cannot trust _anyone_ when it comes to what is most important.

"I am not married myself, of course," Plutarch continues, "but I am sure these last few months in Winchester have been wonderful for you. After all, how could a soldier ask for more than to be stationed near his wife?" He smiles, and Peeta nods, waiting. "I am afraid, though, that you are an asset too valuable for Winchester. The war shall not be won here. No, the real battle is elsewhere!"

"My company is in Winchester," Peeta says, hedging. He cannot leave Katniss.

"Oh, that is nothing. We can easily assign you to another company!" Plutarch says, cheerful, but he lowers his voice as he continues. "I haven't read an editorial penned in your hand for some months, Lieutenant. And I understand, I do, that it is a waste to write when you've no news to report. But that is why we must put you someplace where your talents will be properly utilized. It would almost be a _crime_ to do otherwise!"

"I — I cannot leave Winchester, sir," Peeta says. "My company is here, my men — it —it took me months, General, to earn their trust, to — to ingratiate myself with my superiors, to position myself among them so that I might be privy to important information. If I am placed with another company, I will have to start from scratch, and — _this_ is my company. I cannot leave, sir. I cannot."

Plutarch sighs.

"I cannot," Peeta repeats, and he hopes he doesn't sound as overwrought as he feels.

"I understand," Plutarch says, "but we _need_ you elsewhere."

"Anywhere specific, sir?" Peeta asks, trying not to sound desperate.

"Well, no," Plutarch admits, "not anywhere specific at this _exact_ moment, but —"

"But you cannot be certain that I will be any more use elsewhere than I am in Winchester?"

"We cannot _waste_ your talents, Lieutenant."

"And we won't," Peeta says. "Look — I faced a couple difficulties a few months ago. General Snow was at the Capitol, and he was suspicious. I have tried to draw as little attention to myself as possible since. But I think it might be safe for me to try once more to see what information I can discover. Winchester is still important, General. It is. And unless you have somewhere else specific where you are _certain_ I could be useful, do not take me from my company. It is not worth it."

Plutarch stares at him, hesitant. "This isn't about your wife, is it?"

"No, sir," Peeta says. "I love my wife, but she will be better off, just like everyone else I love, when this war ends, which means my concern as I speak to you now is for ending this war, for helping the Union. And it is for that purpose that I insist you let me stay with my company. Sir."

"In Winchester," Plutarch says.

"Yes, sir," Peeta says, "in Winchester."

Plutarch doesn't reply for a moment. "Very well," he says. "For the present, you shall stay with your company in Winchester. But should we need you elsewhere, my boy, you must do as I ask."

Peeta nods. "Of course, sir." He smiles.

It isn't until he returns to the Capitol and starts to search for Katniss that he realizes exactly what he just promised Plutarch. He needs to continue his work. To spy, despite the risks. It is that, or be placed elsewhere. It is that, or abandon Katniss to weather the Capitol herself. And he will not do that.

He waits until that night, when they are alone in their room, to say something to her.

Katniss is already curled up in the bed when he arrives back from count, and he changes as quietly and quickly as he can before he slips into bed beside her. They've never really talk about it, about how much better they both sleep when they sleep beside each other, and he doesn't see why they should. If he can help her with her nightmares, and hold her close while he does it, he will.

She turns to him as she always does, nestling her head against his chest, over his heart.

"I need to write an editorial," he whispers into the dark. "General Heavensbee wants me to — to be _useful_. If I cannot help our cause in Winchester, he will have me sent somewhere I _can_ help it."

"He can do that?" Katniss asks, quiet.

"Unfortunately, yes," Peeta says. "He is an important person — for _both_ sides."

"We might've waited long enough," Katniss concedes slowly. "To throw off suspicion. We might've waited long enough. We can probably — we can probably risk it. Not my way, but maybe yours. Maybe."

They don't really have any choice, do they?

Katniss is still safely asleep the next morning when Peeta invites Crane to oversee the drills with him. The soldiers are restless, Peeta tells Crane. Peeta constantly breaks up scraps between them. A visit from General Crane might do them a much needed service. Crane agrees, happy to do his part.

"And that," Plutarch tells Peeta at lunch, "is why you are such an asset. You can charm anyone, even General Crane! He is probably already in your pocket, isn't he?"

Peeta only smiles, saying nothing.

He needs to charm the local printer next.

Katniss is always happy to escape Clove for an hour, even an hour spent in the cold weather, and she readily agrees to accompany Peeta to the printshop. They are a only a few blocks short when Katniss kicks a little snow with her boot, Peeta sneezes, and the Confederate flag that hangs above the butcher's shop is suddenly on fire.

A moment later, someone opens fire on the street.

The smoke that rises from all the musket fire is almost immediate, blinding Peeta, but he yanks out his own musket, even as he runs towards the nearest building, towards cover, Katniss at his heels.

But sudden, fierce pain bites his leg, and he stumbles, pitching forward, and hits the ground.

The pain in his leg blinds him for a moment, searing, shooting pain. Katniss tugs on his arms, gasping at him to hurry, trying to pull him to his feet, and he makes to stand, but his leg twists under him, useless, and he cannot even hobble a few feet before he crumples back to the ground.

He is shot.

"Just run," he tells Katniss, "I can find cover. I shall be fine. Run."

He can barely even see her, not through the smoke that billows all around.

Her hands clutch his arms tightly, though, and she starts to pull him across the street. He feels the road turn softer, turn to mud, to meadow. He wants to help, tries to crawl, bites his cheek to distract himself from the throbbing, pulsing ache that pierces his bloodied leg, but he can barely even breathe through the pain. He sees a brick house ahead. A safe haven. And they stop. He hears Katniss fire his musket. He squints up at her silhouette, her shoulders even, the musket steady in her hands.

She leans over him a moment later. "Come on. We're almost safe. Can you walk at all?"

He nods. He _can_. He pushes himself to his feet, and the pain surges through him, making his stomach turn, but Katniss wraps her arm around his torso, and he stands against her. She puts the musket into his hands to better hold him with her own, and they stagger towards the house.

They pass through a broken fence, and they are almost at the house, at the back porch, so close, _almost there_, but the sun is too white, and the pain is too much, and he can hear musket fire before he sees it. Katniss stumbles, and they fall, and he feels sick, but he forces himself to blink, to breathe, to raise his musket, only it is too late. Another musket is already pointed at him, and one at Katniss, two, three, four muskets, because they are completely surrounded.

His own musket is torn from his hands.

And the man who smirks down at Peeta wears a dark, stained blue uniform.

The brick house must belong to Yankees.

"Looks like we caught ourselves a little Grey Back and his girl," the man declares. "And, ooh, look at the chicken guts on this fellow." He jabs Peeta with his musket. "What's that make you, huh? A lieutenant? We caught ourselves a Grey Back first lieutenant! Bully for us, eh?" He laughs, smug.

Peeta looks at the others; only two are in uniform, but there are seven men total, some with muskets, others with rifles, all armed.

He is surprised he hasn't already been killed. He still might be. But he isn't about to let them touch Katniss.

She is right beside him, her shoulder pressed to his back, her arm still wrapped around him, almost cradling him against her chest. He won't let them hurt her. He won't.

"What do we do with 'em, Luke?" the other man in uniform asks, revealing two broken front teeth.

If Peeta tells them that he and Katniss are spies, that they are truly for the Union —

But will the men even believe him? They must. "We are not against you," Peeta says, his voice shakier than he intended. He feels faint, his stomach twisted. "We are for the Union."

The soldiers chuckle. "We can see your pretty little Confederate duds, Mary," one tells Peeta.

"No," Peeta says, "we are informants for the Union, us both, spies —"

"Like hell you are, you little redneck," the oldest soldier says. "But keep jawing, go on. Try to save your hide and your filthy little whore. It ain't gonna work, and ain't nobody gonna save you. Grey Backs don't own Winchester no more. Yous traitors on Union land now, you hear me, boy?"

The others murmur their agreement, muttering "damn right" and "how's that, you stinking Reb?"

Peeta stares at them. What if he starts to name his contacts? Heavensbee is still in town, isn't he? But do these Union foot soldiers have any idea that Heavensbee is a spy himself? And what if it damages the cause to reveal information like that to them? Can he risk that? But if he doesn't —

He blinks, and black dots pepper his vision. Katniss seems to hold him a little tighter.

"Enough," the first soldier says, silencing all the others. "Now. What to do with 'em, huh?"

"I have a few ideas," a small, emaciated man says, staring at Katniss, his fingers twitching on his musket, his tongue continually darting out to lick his lips. "Kill the fuckin' Secesh. Take the girl."

"Ain't time for that now, Bobby," another man says.

And before Peeta can shout that there shall not _ever_ be time for that, Katniss breaks in, her voice clear and calm. "My husband is hurt," she says. "His leg is injured. He needs medical treatment."

"How about you shut that tarnal mouth a'yours, Missus Lieutenant," the first soldier says, raising his musket a little, "and maybe we won't kill you too when we kill your fellow, hows about that?"

"If you want to kill me," Katniss snarls, voice hard, "fine. If you want to shoot me, rape me, kill me, _fine_. May God forgive you. All I ask is that you help me carry my husband into that house."

"Katniss," Peeta breathes, sweating dripping into his eyes, the pain in his leg strangely dulled.

"She wants in the house," the oldest soldier says, "well, let's take her into the house!"

Peeta can barely so much as _think_ a protest before someone yanks Katniss to her feet, away from Peeta, and he falls against the ground, the world spinning. Someone says something, but he cannot hear what, and Katniss is no longer with him, is taken, is in terrible trouble.

But her face hovers over his suddenly, for just a moment, and he understands her expression. He understands. Trust her. He does.

He blacks out.

**tbc.**

a/n: just to clear up a few things, because a few people seem a little confused: I really am from Virginia — Charlottesville, Virginia, to be exact. I was born in Virginia, raised in Virginia, and attend college in Virginia. The little flag in my profile indicates otherwise because _right at this moment_, as I access the internet, I am not in Virginia. I am studying abroad for a semester in England. Because the internet is creepy, it knows where I am. I tried to edit my profile to the correct little flag, but I couldn't. I am sorry for the confusion!


	7. Chapter 7

_a/n: Sorry for the wait! Here it is at last. I've realized from reviews that I haven't done a very good job explaining events in the Civil War for those who aren't already familiar with it, so I tried to do a better job in this chapter, and I tried to do a little summary of events as well. I hope it helps! :)_

* * *

><p>She sees his eyes roll back in his head as he passes out.<p>

The panic in her stomach tightens, but she is thrust roughly forward, towards the house, away from Peeta, who is left on the ground, abandoned, the snow around his leg dyed with his blood.

She stumbles when she is shoved into the house, and she would've fallen if the taller, thinner soldier, his two front teeth knocked out, hadn't caught her around the elbow, hoisted her back onto her feet, and pushed her to the table shoved against the stained wall in the small, cramped kitchen.

The others pour in after, and they don't even bother to raise their muskets as they eye her.

"Now let's have a talk, sweetheart," the plumpest man says, his little pig eyes narrowed.

She looks around, hope fading fast. But she squares her shoulders. "My husband needs —"

A musket butt slams into her chest, knocks the breath from her lungs, and she falls back into a seat, her hand smacking against the wall, and black dots pepper her vision, her eyes almost watering at the abrupt pain. The man starts to tell her that no one cares about her dead husband, but the first soldier snaps at him to be quiet. "And don't hit her no more, neither," he says. He looks at her. "We aren't like them Confederate boys," he says. "We treat women decent, even Confederate whores."

Katniss sneers. "All soldiers are alike," she says. "It matters not the color cotton on your back."

And if he wants to prove he is a soldier with morals, he can start by helping Peeta.

"And what about your old man?" another soldier asks, his teeth no more than little black stubs.

"He is more decent than you could ever hope to be," she snarls, and she will _make_ them listen to her no matter what, she will not let Peeta die, she will _not_, "but if he loses any more blood —"

"The Reb is already dead," the littlest man spits, "and if you don't wanna join him, you _need_ to talk real fast and tells us what we want. Let's start with where you live, sweetheart. Are you keeping company with General Crane at the Capitol? I bet you are, wearing them lacy skirts like you do."

They stare, waiting. She locks her jaw. "I'll answer your questions as soon as you let me —"

"No," the first soldier says, voice cold, "you'll answer the damned questions when we ask 'em."

And she sees him. Finally. She nearly screams his name. "_Thresh_!"

The hulking man stops on the bottom step, confused, a crease in his brow. "Mrs. Mellark," he murmurs, the name like a question. "What are you doing here?" His eyes flicker to the soldiers.

"Mr. Oakheart," a soldier starts, looking between Katniss and Thresh, "we captured —"

"Mr. Mellark and I were caught in the fighting that broke out," Katniss interrupts quickly, her heart in her throat, "and we ran for cover, but we were right across the street when Mr. Mellark was shot right in the leg, and I thought if we could reach you, however foolish it might be, you could —"

"I don't know what this woman is jawing about, Mr. Oakheart, but —"

"Where is Mr. Mellark?" Thresh asks, voice hard.

"Outside!" She almost sobs the word. "He passed out! His leg is badly injured, Thresh. And these _stupid_ Yankees —" She can barely speak through her panic and her relief, twisted together inside her. It doesn't matter; Thresh crosses the room in five massive strides, and he disappears outside.

The soldiers look at her in disbelief, and one opens his mouth to speak.

"I do believe my husband told you that we were spies," she snaps, moving to her feet, and they do not try to stop her; they are too stunned. She starts towards the door, but Thresh reappears a moment later, carrying Peeta as if he were a doll, lifeless, and Katniss beckons Thresh to the table.

Peeta is too pale, sweat on his white face, his leg so bloodied her stomach rolls at the sight.

"The wound is not bad," Thresh says. "Looks like clean shot, straight through his thigh."

She nods, tries to believe he is right. It isn't bad. "Have you any linen?" she asks. Thresh nods and looks to a soldier, who starts towards the stairs. But Katniss is too impatient. She yanks up her skirt and tries to tear her petticoat. Thresh takes the material from her and tears it himself, and she quickly moves to Peeta with it, covers his leg, presses her hand against the hot, bloody wound.

Her jerks a little, and his eyes flicker.

"It's alright, Peeta," she says. "It's alright."

She tries to stem the blood, and she rips his trousers a little, better to see the wound, because she needs to see it to treat it. And then what will she do? She needs to think. What would her sister do?

She swallows back the sob that bubbles up in her throat.

Her hands shake, and she is not a nurse; she _cannot_ do this. "Ma'am," a soldier murmurs. She whirls around, and the man steps forward, cautious. "Let me have a look. We need to find out if the bone is broken. If it isn't, you shouldn't worry. And if it _is,_ well, ain't much you can do about that."

He looks apologetic.

They are suddenly quite respectful, these men who only moments ago left Peeta for dead.

She nods and steps back a little, clutching her bloodied, torn petticoat in her hands, and the soldier pulls out a little knife. She is horrified for an instant, but the man simply cuts away the trouser cloth that surrounds the wound, and he touches Peeta, who moans loudly, a gurgled, painful moan.

His feverish eyes find hers, and she surges forward to take his hand. She tries to smile for him as he says her name, his voice rough. The soldier, his forehead creased, assesses the wound, and Peeta lets out a strangled yell before the soldier nods a little, steps back. "It isn't broken, ma'am," he declares. But Katniss keep her eyes on Peeta, who still looks so faint, and she squeezes his hand.

"It's alright," she whispers. "It's alright."

"What happened?" he asks, eyes a little clearer if still so pained. "I blacked out." And he tries to sit up, but she presses a hand to his chest. "No, those soldiers," he breathes, suddenly panicked. "Did they hurt you? What happened? And was that Thresh? I thought I saw Thresh, Katniss. I swear it."

"This is where Thresh stays," Katniss explains. "This is where Rue used to take the eggs."

"You are safe here, Mr. Mellark," Thresh says, stepping forward.

Peeta looks at him, and his eyes travel to the silent soldiers, and he looks at Katniss.

He nods a little and closes his eyes, and his hand tightens around hers.

Another soldier presses something into her other hand, and Katniss can't imagine where they found moss in the winter, but she quickly tears it in two, and she presses each half to where the bullet tore into his leg and where the bullet tore out. Straight through, a clean shot. Thank God. And still another soldier holds out the strip of petticoat that Thresh tore; it is already so bloody, but it'll do.

Peeta opens his eyes, watches her. He can't be too badly hurt if he is conscious, can he?

Her fingers are slick with blood as she wraps the strip around his leg and ties a sloppy knot. He lost a lot of blood, but the wound is wrapped. That's what matters. He will be alright. He _is_ alright.

And the stupid boy smiles at her, as if to prove it. "They didn't hurt you?" he asks, unconvinced.

"No," she says, "and I am not the one for whom you should worry, Peeta Mellark. But you will be fine if you rest. Go on. I am perfectly safe, and I will remain so. Rest." She is certain they cannot stay in this house for much longer, but Peeta is far too faint, lost far too much blood, _needs_ to rest.

He laughs a little, but he closes his eyes. She doesn't release his hand. She can't.

She wishes she could send for a doctor, a midwife, _anyone_, but she can still hear the distant musket fire, and they have done all they can; a doctor could do nothing more. She finds his pulse, and it thunders under her fingers, steady and sure, and her own heart beats in ragged relief at the sound.

"Mrs. Mellark!"

She turns to see General Boggs come down the stairs, Thresh at his heels. His mustache is a little thicker, his face a little thinner, but his eyes are as kind as always. "Are you hurt?" he asks, and she realizes that her hands are bloodied nearly to her elbows, and blood stains her dress, Peeta's blood.

Too much blood. "No, I'm fine. But Mr. Mellark was shot."

"But the bullet didn't hit his bone, sir," a soldier says. "Went straight through the flesh."

"Lucky," Boggs says.

"Always," Peeta says, eyes flickering open to look at Boggs. He makes as if to sit up.

Katniss tries not to shove him as she lays her hand flat on his chest. "_Rest_."

He stares at Boggs for a moment before he relaxes against the table, eyes slipping closed.

And she tells Boggs what she told Thresh; they were caught in the street, the house was the closest place, and it was all she could think to do, "but if the Union has really taken Winchester, it does not matter if the Confederates at the Capitol knows we are spies. They no longer possess any power."

It is a question. And Boggs shakes his head.

"We didn't take Winchester. This wasn't planned, Mrs. Mellark. It was only _stupid_ children, eager to start a fight with soldiers far better armed than they. I didn't command it, and those aren't my men outside. At least my men aren't outside any longer; _these_ idiots are the only man I have left."

And, displeased, he looks at the soldiers in the room, all of whom seem suddenly like little boys, shamefaced. "And half of them will be hanged for it when Crane subdues everyone," he continues. He turns to her, and he offers a small smile. "But as soon as Mr. Mellark can possibly manage it, we can help take you out to the field behind the tavern, and we can let the Confederates find you."

Katniss is not so certain it is as easy as he seems to think it is, but she nods, and she looks at Peeta, whose forehead is creased in uneasy sleep. "Is there anything at all for his pain?" she asks softly.

"Nothing, I'm afraid," Boggs says, shaking his head, "not even whiskey."

"Not with the blockade," one soldier says, disgruntled.

"The blockade of the southern ports is a war strategy," Boggs reminds, voice a little harder. "It is meant to cut off the Confederates from the supplies they need, and it may be what wins the Union this war, Bentley." The soldier is abashed, but Katniss looks at Boggs. He is pale, Katniss realizes, _too_ pale, and she wonders when he last dared to venture outside this little house. "All of you," he says at last, "upstairs. I would talk with Mrs. Mellark." They dutifully start to shuffle up the stairs and down the hall, emptying the kitchen, but Boggs stops a few. "Stay, Luke. And you, Jonathan." The two soldiers dressed in uniform remain behind, and Boggs pulls out a chair at the table to sit.

He nods at another chair. Katniss takes it, but she does not release Peeta.

She keeps his clammy hand clasped tightly in hers.

She needs to take off his trousers, to wash away all the blood, to find a proper bandage for him.

But this isn't the place for that, and she certainly can't if she wants to tell his friends that she hid with Peeta in a field and bandaged his leg herself as she waited for the Confederates to find them.

And how soon will Peeta be strong enough to walk to the field Boggs mention?

Or will one of the soldiers help him? But if someone catches them all together —

"I should flay the skin off their backs for this," Boggs mutters, shaking his head. "They tore from the house as soon as they heard the musket fire. A bunch of stupid muggins, the whole lot of them, and I'm cursed with them." He doesn't bother to look at the two soldiers, Luke and Jonathan, as he speaks. "Well, at least they were able to help you," he says, and he offers her a small, tired smile.

She decides not to mention how, exactly, she made her way into this house, and she only nods.

"I have not heard from you in some time," Boggs says.

"I couldn't risk it," Katniss replies. "I was nearly caught. I would've been killed if Mr. Mellark hadn't arrived and made excuses. After that we were under too much suspicion to risk anything."

Boggs nods. "And, um, your Mr. Mellark, he is for the Union?"

"Yes," she says, only just realizing that Boggs hasn't ever actually met Peeta. "He is. He answers to General Heavensbee. He writes editorials with information that the Union wants." And that is plenty for Boggs, who starts to nod, a little more confidant. He must know the name Heavensbee.

"A whole spy ring exists under Heavensbee," Boggs says, "and he reports to General Grant."

"Mr. Mellark says General Grant fights in the west," she replies, frowning.

Boggs nods. "He does. But the fellow is smart. Says a war is won only after you find out where your enemy is. And that means a war is won with _spies_. They are all sorts, his spies, fellows who slip into Confederate camps just for information, slaves, ladies like yourself, fellows who _are_ in the Confederacy. They all keep him informed on troop movements, strategies, numbers. I heard tell he even has fellows who read the Confederate papers just to see if they can find out any tidbits." He shakes his head, as if in disbelief. "I can't see how Heavensbee keeps it all straight, but they say he can tell a fellow more about any Confederate company than a solider in the company itself can."

"But why would a man who fights in the west bother with spies in the east?" Katniss asks.

"Because once he wins the west, my dear," Boggs says, smiling a little, "he will come to the east."

She understands. "And he will be ready to win it in only a heartbeat," she says. She smiles at that.

But Peeta shudders, sweat on his brow. She reaches out to check his forehead, and she can feel the heat against her knuckles before she even touches the feverish skin. A damp cloth, that might help.

She needs to do _something_ for him.

"I need to keep him cool," she says, turning to Boggs. "Is there a trough from which I might —?"

"Luke," Boggs says, nodding at the soldier.

"Yes, sir." Luke disappears outside, a bucket from the corner in hand. Katniss focuses on Peeta. She takes her sleeves, wipes the sweat from his face, and she inspects his leg. The bandage seems to hold, and it is already a little brown with his drying blood, but she cannot see any fresh blood.

Good. He will be alright. She knows it. After all, he was laughing only moments ago, wasn't he?

Luke returns a minute later with the bucket, and Katniss struggles to tear another strip from her petticoat. Luke steps forward to help, and she nearly knocks him off his feet. Her hands sting with the effort, but she manages to do it herself, and she folds the torn cloth, dips it into the water, and turns to Peeta, wipes the sweat from his brow, presses the cold cloth to his pale, feverish skin.

He blinks, awake, but he doesn't try to speak or to move, and she smiles at him.

"I need to find out how the Winchester Unionists fared in their little battle," Boggs says, and Katniss tears her eyes from Peeta to look at Boggs. "Thresh can help you take Mr. Mellark to that field as soon as he is able, if you want. But, tell me, Mrs. Mellark, are you safe at the Capitol?"

He looks so concerned for her, and she almost feels bad at her admission.

"No," she says, "not even a little."

Boggs runs a hand over his balding head. "I would be happy to have you stay, if you want, but I should warn you that you would not be able to leave the house, and you would have to be careful not to let yourself be seen on the street." His smile is sad. "And it is cramped, as well, and spies constantly cross through, but, still, I suspect it would be safer than anywhere with Seneca Crane."

She looks at Peeta. He joined this war to help the Union, and, as much as she respects Boggs, she cannot imagine that he is much help to the Union, not trapped as he is. And Katniss cannot imagine that should we be able to handle even so much as a week trapped in this house with these soldiers.

"Thank you, General, but we serve the Union best at the Capitol. It is a dreadful lot, but it is ours."

Boggs nods. "I suspected you would say so. You're a brave woman, Katniss Mellark." He stands, and he murmurs something to Luke, but Katniss doesn't try to listen; she looks at Peeta, still faint from all the blood he lost as she dragged him to the house, as the soldiers taunted them. But he will be fine, she repeats to herself. And perhaps she will have a soldier help him. The sooner they make it that field, the sooner the Confederates can find them, so the sooner she can care for him properly.

"Shouldn't wait too much longer, ma'am," Luke says, and Katniss looks at him, and she realizes that, while Jonathan and Boggs have left, Luke remains still. "The fighting will stop soon, and the Confederates will start to scour the town," he continues. "We need to light out if we want to make sure nobody catches us." She stares at Luke for a moment. He is younger than she is, she realizes, and he is not unattractive, dimples in his round cheeks, his thick hair so blonde it is almost white.

He is a child.

She nods. "Let him a few more minutes." Peeta opens his mouth as if to protest. "A few more minutes," she insists, and Peeta smiles, as if amused. She presses the damp cloth to his forehead.

"A'course," Luke says, and he moves to sit in the chair that Boggs left. It is quiet. Katniss watches Peeta, checks the bandage, feels for his pulse. "So, um, how did a lady like yourself decide to spy for the Union?" Luke asks suddenly, as if to make polite conversation. He even offers half a smile.

"Not all those in the South wanted secession, Mr. —"

"Ludlow," he supplies. "Luke Ludlow."

"Mr. Ludlow," she says. "I did not want secession. And I certainly did not want war. But I could not stop it, so I did my best to survive it, yet somehow the war brought me to Winchester, and the chance to help was offered, and I could not ignore it. After all, the sooner this war ends, the better."

He nods. "I'm sorry," he says, and he sounds it. "About earlier, I mean. We acted real shameful."

"A war brings out the worst in people," she replies, and that's as much as she wants to discuss it.

"I didn't believe it, you know," Luke says. "That a war would ever come. I _couldn't_ believe it."

She was the same way, once upon a time. But that almost seems like another life now. She looks at Peeta, brushes her knuckles against his cheek, and his skin isn't quite so feverish. Good.

"After all," Luke continues, "seemed like them Southerners were always pissing themselves about something or other. And we just needed somebody to put them in their place, I thought. And I remember — God, I remember, when I read in the paper that — I'm from Illinois, and when I read what Lincoln said, God, I thought to myself, I thought, that is a man born to be a leader. A house divided against itself cannot stand. I loved that, I did. A house divided against itself cannot stand."

He stares into the air, seeing something she cannot.

"When he was elected, and South Carolina seceded, 'cause they knew, oh, they _knew_, that Lincoln wouldn't let them keep their slaves, well, I didn't bat an eye at it. Thought it was all bull." He sighs, almost laughing a little to himself. "A state can't leave the Union, after all. We aren't just states. We are the _United_ States. And South Carolina could whine all they wanted, didn't make no difference."

He leans back in his chair, his voice angry and disdainful. "I didn't bat an eye. And when other states followed South Carolina, and they called themselves the Confederate States of America, I laughed at the damned fools. Thought they might dig their heels in a little, but I didn't think it'd mean war. But Lincoln did. Called for troops. And I said he needn't bother. I said the Confederate States of America wouldn't last a year. But then Virginia seceded, too, and the others as well."

Katniss knows what happened, but she lets him talk, his voice bitter, his eyes on something distant.

"The whole damn South seceded. And still — still I thought it was nothing. I thought it would last a week, this war. Just a week. The South wanted to make a fuss, so they made a fuss, but it wouldn't take long to remind them where they belonged. To put them in their place. Just a week."

"You certainly weren't the only one who thought so," Katniss says.

"No, I reckon I wasn't," he says, sighing. "Plenty thought it. My sister included. And she was one of those that went to that first battle at Manassas. She took her kids and went with her next door neighbor. They packed a damned picnic. But you know how that turned out, eh?" He shakes his head. "A woman isn't supposed to see blood like that. Isn't supposed to see battle. It's not right."

Katniss heard about that; the North thought it would be an event to see the South try to defend themselves in battle against the North, and people packed picnics, came to the field, wanted to see it all, only to find that the battle was what all battles are, gruesome and grisly, bloody and brutal.

Her eyes flicker to her own hands, to the blood that stains the lines of her knuckles, the creases of her palm, and she thinks he might be right. But _no one_ should see blood like that, man or woman.

"But, well, _still_, I was damn sure it wouldn't last," Luke continues. "A year at most, I said. And then came Antietam. The bloodiest battle in all the world. Ever heard that? That's what I've heard."

"I'm sure there have been worse," Katniss murmurs.

"Not that any American boy has ever seen," Luke says, shaking his head. "It doesn't make any sense, if you think about it all. We're better armed, we are, and we've God, and we've Lincoln, and they have pitchforks and Jefferson Davis and — and the need to enslave a whole race a'people."

His face is a little contorted with disgust.

"Is that why you fight?" Katniss asks. "To free the slaves?"

"Well, I suppose it is now," he says. "Though, to be honest with you, I wouldn't have started a war that killed so many boys for it. But, hell, I didn't ever think neither that the damned South _would_ start a war just to defend it." He sighs. "What about you? For what do you fight, Mrs. Mellark?"

She thinks about it for a moment. Why _does_ she fight?

"Because it is right," she answers at last, looking at Luke. "Because my father — he died when I was young, but before he died, whenever I was with him, he used to tell me stories, history stories. He just loved it so much, history, _our_ history. He would talk about the Revolutionary War, and the Constitution, and how we were a free people, he said, unlike any in all the world." Her eyes flicker to Peeta. "He would hate this war. He would _hate_ it. He would hate to the see the country so torn."

"Ain't a soul who doesn't hate it," Luke says softly, "North or South." He pauses. "Something we can all agree on, at least." He starts to smile a little. "Hows about that, eh?" It makes her smile, too.

Thresh appears on the stairs. "Mrs. Mellark," he says, voice low. "We can't wait any more." She nods, looking at Peeta. He won't be able to walk, but it isn't as if they can stay until he will be able.

"I can handle it," Peeta says, and he makes to sit up. She lets him, and his face contorts with pain, but she sees his jaw lock, and he shifts so his legs dangle off the table. She takes his arm, Thresh surges forward to take the other, and together they help him stand. He winces, but his injured leg doesn't really take any weight, not with Thresh to support him, and Luke holds open the door.

It is easier than Katniss thought it would be; Thresh is plenty strong enough.

But Peeta starts to sweat so much, breath coming short, and Katniss can barely breathe herself, fearful that someone will spot them as they walk past a few sparse, snowy trees, and they pass behind the tavern, and Katniss can hear shouting on the street, but she cannot see it, and she hopes that means no one on the street can see them. The field is hidden behind another strip of trees.

Peeta nearly collapses when they reach it, and he leans against Katniss, his forehead on her thigh.

"Good luck, Mrs. Mellark," Thresh says. "Stay safe."

Katniss nods. "Thank you for everything."

He hesitates. "The little girl. Is she safe?"

"Rue. She will be soon." She smiles, and she looks at Luke. "And thank you for your help, Mr. Ludlow," she says. He nods, his smile polite, and he follows Thresh; it only takes a moment for them to disappear. Katniss looks at Peeta. "Are you alright?" she asks him. "Do you feel faint?"

"Actually, I feel really spectacular," Peeta replies, and he tilts his head to smile at her. "Really."

She kneels down beside him. She has half a mind to try to see if she can support him so that they can walk to the street; she feels silly simply waiting in this field. But she is not as strong as Thresh, and she refuses to cause Peeta more pain, or, worse, do something that would injure him further.

She runs her hand over his hair. "The Confederates will surely start to scour the town to find any Unionists to hang," she says. "It will not be long before your friends find us." She tries to smile.

"They'll be so impressed with you," he says, "bandaging a soldier during battle."

She doesn't have a chance to reply before she hears someone shout, and they emerge from nowhere, muskets raised. They really did not have to wait long. She prays that Thresh and Luke are safe, and the closest soldier, his Confederate coat torn along the sleeve, lowers his musket.

"Lieutenant Mellark!" he exclaims, eyes wide.

The other two soldiers lower their muskets as well, and they all straighten.

"I could use a hand, soldier," Peeta says. "Or a leg, as mine was shot." He smiles at his little joke, and the soldier laughs nervously, even as he surges forward to help Peeta. "This is my wife," Peeta says. "She dragged me from the street as soon as those bastards shot me. Thought we'd be safer."

Another soldier offers his hand to help Katniss to her feet.

The soldiers tell Peeta exactly what happened as they help him walk, Katniss at their heels. A dozen Unionists in town set flame to the Confederate flag simply to incite a battle, "but we already shot every last one of 'em straight to hell." He says they set up a hospital in the Capitol ballroom.

"We don't have much, Lieutenant," he adds, "but all the ladies in town are donating whatever they have, so I'd wager we can find something to fix you up." He smiles. "A little whiskey at the least."

They are a block from the Capitol when an officer sees them, and Katniss knows that Peeta considers the officer a friend. She explains as well as she can what happened, and the man helps take Peeta into the Capitol. It all happens quickly after that; several soldiers help Peeta upstairs, "because we cannot have our lieutenant in the ballroom with the others," Clove declares, and Katniss wants to look down on Clove for her elitism, yet she cannot deny that she wants Peeta upstairs as well.

His eyes close the moment his head is on the pillow, but Katniss manages to pull off his trousers, and someone fetches water, and Clove appears with fresh, clean bandages, and she helps Katniss wash the wound, and Mrs. Abernathy arrives with herbs for the wound and whiskey for the pain.

"It is only a swallow," she says, regretful.

But it is plenty, Peeta says, and Katniss wraps his leg, and he takes his drink before he drifts off.

He can finally rest, and he will be back on his feet within a few weeks. He will.

She hears Mrs. Abernathy murmur to Clove, and she leans over Peeta, kisses him soft and sweet.

She tries to wash her hands as best she can in the water. She needs to change as well; her dress is torn and muddied and soaked with blood. A hand touches her back, and Clove starts to unfasten the dress. Mrs. Abernathy left, but Clove hasn't, and she helps Katniss undress as Peeta sleeps.

Her own purple silk dress is bloodied now as well, but Clove doesn't seem to care. She frowns when she looks at the torn petticoat that Katniss discards. "Filthy Yankees," she murmurs, face dark, and Katniss doesn't really know how to respond as she slips on a fresh petticoat and a clean dress. Clove starts to leave, but she looks back at Katniss. "Mr. Mellark will be fine," she says.

Katniss nods. "Thank you, Mrs. Ableman."

"Clove." She smiles, and it startles Katniss.

"Thank you, Clove," Katniss murmurs, and the door shuts quietly behind Clove.

Katniss sinks into a chair, suddenly exhausted. She needs to check on Rue, who must surely be with the injured soldiers; Rue will panic the moment she hears that Peeta was shot. But Peeta is fine, and Rue will be, too, just as soon as Peeta can find a route on which to send her north.

They will all be fine.

"A penny for your thoughts," Peeta says.

She looks over at him. "You should be asleep."

Peeta smiles. "I could've guesses that. What a waste of a penny." He shakes his head.

That he hasn't so easily fallen to sleep is probably good; he has not lost _too_ much blood.

But he does need to rest. "I wish I had something more for your pain," Katniss says, "something to help you sleep." And she smiles a little despite herself. "A little blue mass, perhaps." She sighs. "But the blockade would never allow that." She swallows back her frustration, tries to make light. "I cannot imagine how your mother fares at home without you to fetch her pills every other week."

Peeta chuckles, turning his head from her to look at the ceiling instead. "Fairly well, I would imagine, as she never needed them to start." She frowns, doesn't understand, but his eyes flicker back to hers, and his smile is rueful. "I used her as an excuse to talk to you," he explains. "And to ask you to marry me. Never had the courage to do it, but I would recite speeches to myself for days. Must've tried to ask at least a dozen times. More, even. But I could never manage to do it."

She is stunned, and she doesn't know how to respond; all she can think to do is look at her hands.

"A man as kind as you," she says, "I would think every woman in town would want to wed you."

"But I only ever wanted you," he replies, as if it is so simple. "And I was right."

His eyes on her are too much, and she looks up, meets his gaze, sees his small, sad smile.

"Right about what?" she murmurs.

"About you," he says. "I always admired you, how strong you were, how much you cared about those you loved. But my brother used to say that it was foolish to think like that. After all, I hadn't ever even spoken properly with you, he said. But I was right. These last four months prove it."

"I am not so special," she says, but the words are caught in her throat, because the way he looks at her, the shine in his eyes is not a feverish shine, or a sleepy shine, or a tearful shine; it is a shine that reminds her of the offhand comments that Rue says every so often, of the allusions that Madge used to make, of the accusations that Gale once hurdled, a shine that says Peeta Mellark loves her.

And, as if her heart isn't already beating too fast, he says it. "I've loved you forever, Katniss."

Her throat is too dry. How does he expect her to respond?

"I thought I was about to die," he adds, voice soft, "and all I could think was that I never said it. I had to say it. Just once, just in case. I needed to say it." And his small smile is almost apologetic.

"You are not about to die, Peeta," she says. "Not if I can help it." She looks at him and musters a smile. "Try to sleep. The more you rest, the sooner you'll be on your feet as if you were never not."

"Alright," he says, voice too soft, too affectionate.

"I shall check on Rue, make she is fine. Let her know what happened."

He nods, and she doesn't look at him as she stands, tucks the sheets a little around him, and flicks off the lamp. The waning light that peaks through the closed curtains lets her see her way to the door.

Her mind flickers over every afternoon she opened the door to find him on her porch steps, hat in hand, an abashed smile on his face as he asked so politely if she might spare a little blue mass for his mother. And maybe she always knew, she thinks; maybe she simply never wanted to admit it.

But it doesn't change anything, she tells herself. It doesn't.

All that matters right now is how they will survive this war.

* * *

><p>Delly arrives at the Capitol on a Tuesday.<p>

It is only two weeks until Christmas, and a cane helps Peeta walk.

She looks thinner, her hair cut shorter, her expression a little more guarded, but she hugs Peeta so tightly he warns her not to break a rib, and she smiles as she kisses his cheek. Her brother, Sam, is with her, so much taller than when Peeta saw him last, and they are both perfectly polite at dinner.

They are only in Winchester for a week before a stagecoach will take them to Maryland with Rue.

It works out perfect, really. As soon as Delly found out that Peeta wrote Bannock and Lorie, she wrote him herself to tell him that her parents wanted to send her north with her brother to keep them safe, and is there any way at all that she could see Peeta when they stopped in Winchester?

"I miss you so much I can hardly stand it!" she wrote, underlining the sentence several times.

And Delly readily agreed to have Rue accompany them in the stagecoach that would take them to the Potomac, "and I have a friend who can see you all safely across the river," Peeta wrote her, and they worked out all the details. Delly is his oldest friend, and he knows she will look after Rue.

The night she arrives, as soon as dinner finishes, they all escape upstairs, Katniss, Peeta, Rue, Delly, and Sam, and Delly describes home. "The fighting is worse than ever," she says, "and the blockade is awful. I don't think anyone has eaten well in months." The more she talks, the tenser that Katniss becomes, and Peeta is helpless to comfort her. "Your little sister is well, though."

"And the Hawthornes?" Katniss asks.

Delly smiles. "I spoke with Vick Hawthorne myself only last month," she assures. "He is better fed than most. His whole family is, and Primrose with them. Gale Hawthorne fights with the Rebel sympathizers, but he keeps his family fed." Katniss nods, smiles, is clearly relieved.

She worries about her sister so much, but how often does she worry about Gale Hawthorne?

He used to worry, all those years ago, that before he ever found the courage to ask for her hand, Gale Hawthorne would ask first. He never understood why Gale didn't, although perhaps he does now; Katniss isn't much for romance, for marriage, for anything other than how she will survive the next day. But a war can change how a person looks at the world. What will she want when this war ends, when she is able to return home to her sister and to the man who kept her sister safe?

He admitted that he loves her, that he wants to marry her, but she never really responded.

He isn't surprised, yet to lose her to Gale Hawthorne after everything is over —

But that isn't important, not when they are in a war. They must survive if first, and _then_ —

"And Bannock and Lorie are both well, as you know," Delly continues. "I haven't seen your mother in months, but I would've heard if your father was worse." Her smile is a little dimmer. "I do not know about your brother Rye. He hasn't written Bannock in some months, but — but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. After all, _you_ didn't write for several months, but you are alive still." She shakes her head. "I am not certain I have forgiven you for that yet. Peeta Mellark."

"He thought it would keep everyone _safer_ if he let them believe he was dead," Katniss says.

Delly clucks her tongue, but her eyes flicker between Peeta and Katniss.

"But I have already spoken enough," she says suddenly, "it is time for _you_ to explain to me all that I have missed! I thought you went south, Katniss, yet I find you with Peeta in Winchester, and you are _married_! I cannot believe it! Married in a war, and not a soul was told, not ever your friends!"

Katniss seems to curl in on herself a little, uncomfortable.

Peeta never mentioned Katniss in the letters to Delly, and she was clearly shocked when she came to the Capitol and found Katniss with Peeta, but she bit her tongue when she heard Mrs. Abernathy refer to Katniss as Mrs. Mellark. He isn't surprised she wants an explanation, however.

He isn't sure what to say, but he supposes Delly and Sam can hear the truth.

"We aren't married, actually," he says. "But we thought it would be safer for Katniss to be wed."

"And, _naturally_, you volunteered," Delly says, biting her lip, eyes bright.

"No one at the Capitol knows we aren't truly married," Katniss says, "so you cannot —"

"I shan't," Delly assures quickly, reaching out to touch Katniss on the arm. "I promise."

They talk late into the night, or Delly talks, at least, and it makes Peeta so wistful for home.

The next week passes quickly and the sky overhead is overcast, the snow thick under their boots, when Peeta walks Rue, Delly, and Sam to the stagecoach that will take them to Maryland. Rue clings to his hand more tightly than she has in years and years, since she was little, and she looks back at the Capitol, at where Katniss watches them from the window, until they turn the corner.

"The coach will take you to the Potomac," he says. "And if anyone stops the coach, you say —"

"We say that we are on our way to see our aunt, confined to bed, who sent for us," Sam recites.

"I shall not speak," Rue adds, "and I shall draw as little attention to myself as I possibly can."

"And when we reach the Potomac, your friend Beetee will help us cross," Delly says. Peeta nods.

He knows that Rue will be safer in Philadelphia, but it will not be an easy journey, not even with Delly and Sam, and he will miss her dearly. Her eyes were tearful when she said goodbye to Katniss, and they turn glossy a second time as she says goodbye to Peeta. "As soon as the war ends, the _moment_ it ends," she says, a quiver in her voice, "you'll come find me, won't you?"

"The moment it ends," he says, "I swear it, Rue."

She throws her arms around his neck, and she clutches him tightly. He nearly loses his balance, and his cane clatters to the ground, but he doesn't care, and he holds Rue still tighter as she whispers that she loves him. "And she loves you," she says, "she is simply afraid to admit it."

He kisses the top of her head. "Stay safe." His eyes itch with tears. He hugs Delly, shakes hands with Sam, and that's it. They all climb into the coach, and it disappears down the road, out of sight.

He finds Katniss in bed when he returns to the Capitol, dressed yet hidden under the covers.

He tugs off his boots and his coat, and he crawls onto the bed, wraps an arm around her over the sheets. "They'll be alright," he murmurs. "As long as they make it to Potomac, Beetee will see them across the river, and they will surely be safe after they reach Maryland. They shall all be alright."

"We won't know," Katniss whispers. "She won't be able to write us if she arrives safely, so we shall have no idea if she does, or if she is stopped, or —" She stops, can't make herself finish.

He repeats the promise he made Rue. "As soon as the war finishes," he tells Katniss, "I'll find her."

Katniss turns, and she presses her face into his chest, and they stay like that until Effie knocks.

Mrs. Abernathy starts to decorate the Capitol for Christmas that afternoon. Peeta helps a few other soldiers collect holly branches for her, and he weaves them through the banister, as Katniss and Clove help Mrs. Abernathy put out all her best Christmas china and Christmas candles and Christmas linens and Christmas angel figurines. The Capitol seems somehow less like the villainous place it is wrapped up like a Christmas present, even with soldiers stationed at every door in every hall.

Peeta expects Mrs. Abernathy to make a fuss about how Christmas will suffer from the blockade, but she seems determined to make it the best wartime Christmas yet, and her zeal is infectious.

They eat their best dinner in weeks on Christmas Eve, two roasted chickens on the table, and all the men pretend not to see all the ladies sip apple cider. Mrs. Abernathy herds everyone to her favorite parlor as soon as dinner is finished, and she sits at her piano, and the songs start. They sing together, Cato and Clove and Nick and Abraham and John and Peeta. Mrs. Abernathy tries to insist that Katniss must sing with them as well. "But Mr. Mellark fell in love with your beautiful voice, my dear!" she exclaims. "And it would be an injustice if you would not sing to us tonight!"

But Katniss shakes her head, her small tight, and she settles into a plush chair near the fireplace.

Peeta sits beside her, and the others are happy enough to continue on without them.

"I didn't realize how much having Delly and Sam visit would make me miss home," she admits, voice soft and sad. "I didn't think it possible for me to miss home any more than I did, yet I do."

He nods. "What did you used to do?" he asks. "For Christmas, I mean."

She takes a moment to respond. "We would put molasses on pine cones," she murmurs, "and we would sprinkle seeds over the molasses, and we would string them up in the yard. I thought they looked silly, but Prim loved them, and she used to say even the birds deserved to enjoy a happy Christmas."

He remembers those pinecones. He always wondered what they were. "She is a sweet child."

"The sweetest," Katniss says, and a smile tugs on her lips. "Sshe would make little ornaments to put all over the house, and I would find holly and pine for her in the woods, and she would blanket every room in the branches so that the whole house smelled like pine for weeks. She would not let me toss them out until they were all brown. And stockings on the chimney were her favorite. We never really had much money for presents, but all year I collected things to put in her stocking, little toys, a bell, peanuts, oranges, a comb, ribbons for her hair, anything she might like."

"She must've adored you," Peeta says.

Katniss looks at her lap, her smile so soft it makes him ache. "Not as much as I adored her."

"My mother used to bake cinnamon rolls for us every Christmas morning, even when we were older," he says. "It was the only thing she ever did that made me think perhaps she loved us."

"I've never had a cinnamon roll," Katniss says.

He smiles. "I'll bake a whole batch for you next Christmas," he says.

And she smiles, too. "On Christmas Eve," she tells him, "right before we went to bed, I would recite _A Visit from Saint Nicholas_ to Prim. I always loved it, and I loved how much she loved it."

Her smile dims as she stares at the floor, or perhaps at something only she can see.

A moment later, loud, raucous laughter fills the room, and Peeta looks over to see Haymitch wipe tears from his eyes, laughter still on his face, and Mrs. Abernathy starts to laugh as well when Haymitch pulls her to her feet, takes her hand, and spins her into his arm. Her laughter is loud and happy, and Haymitch takes her face in his hand and kisses her. He is drunk, but Mrs. Abernathy doesn't seem to care, and her face is flushed afterward as Haymitch holds her to his chest.

"I didn't think Mr. Abernathy cared so much for his wife," Peeta murmurs.

Katniss watches them. "I think she is the only person in the world for whom he cares," she says, voice soft. "He simply doesn't show it the way other people do. His love is a subtler, quieter kind."

He can always say that it is to keep up their ruse, but he cannot deny to himself that he touches her hand, leans towards her, and kisses her because he is unable to resist. Her lips are soft against his, and she simply smiles as he draws back. Haymitch shouts at them suddenly, tells them to save that for later, and Katniss flushes, but she stands, and she announces that they must retire for the night.

Haymitch laughs, eyes twinkling, but Katniss either does not notice or does not care.

He decides to skip rounds for that night, and no one cares, not even a drunk Seneca Crane. Katniss is quiet as they each undress, as they prepare for her bed, her mind surely on sweet little Primrose.

Her nightmares are so much worse now, have been ever since the skirmish on the streets.

She shouts his name sometimes, voice desperate and broken, and the guilt overwhelms him.

He hopes God can spare her from nightmares for one night, for Christmas Eve.

It isn't until they are in bed, hidden under thick covers to fight off the cold, that she turns to him, her face beside his on the pillow, and starts to whisper. "_'T__was the night before Christmas_," she says, "_when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse!_" And he can make out the smile on her face; she is so close he can nearly feel it, her breath warm against his lips.

Maybe even with the war, even away from home, even in the Capitol, Christmas is still Christmas.

_"The stockings were hung by the chimney with care," _she continues, "_In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there._ _The children were nestled all snug in their beds,_ _While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;_ _And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,_ _Had just settled down for a long winter's nap; When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter!_" Her eyes are so wide.

He laughs a little at the excitement that radiates from her as she speaks.

She surges still closer to him as she recites the reindeer, her eyes so bright, her nose brushing his. "_And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:_ '_Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!_ _On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!_ _To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!_ _Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!'"_ He can see why Prim loves this.

She takes on a voice when she describes Saint Nicholas. "_He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,_ _And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself_." And she puffs out her cheeks, as if to imitate him, making Peeta laugh. But as she continues, her voice becomes softer, sweeter, and he reaches out to cup her cheek. She turns her face towards his palm and smiles against his hand. "_He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle_," she says, "_And away they all flew like the down of a thistle._ _But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight _—"

She stops, bites her lip, and waits.

"_Happy Christmas to all,_" Peeta finishes softly, "_and to all a good night_!"

She smiles.

He wants _so much_ to kiss her; it makes his stomach warm, and it makes his chest hurt, and his heart jumps a little, as if to jump from his chest and into her hands, and he wants _so much_ for it to be real, a shared bed and his ring on her finger and a kiss on Christmas Eve when no one can see.

The church bells chime.

"Midnight," Katniss says. "It's Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Katniss," he replies.

Her eyes slip closed. "Merry Christmas, Peeta."

It takes him hours to fall asleep. Katniss doesn't have any nightmares, and the sun rises over fresh snow on Christmas. Peeta presents Katniss with a small block of chocolate, and she replies that his present is a haircut. He laughs, but he lets her take scissors to his hair, and he is afraid to breathe when she starts to sing softly as she cuts. Her voice is still the most beautiful sound in the world.

It is another happy day in Winchester, the soldiers drunk, everyone eager to forget the war.

But it is only a day, and it passes, and soon another year starts. They never hear from Rue, but Peeta can only assume that means she arrived safely in Philadelphia. The skirmish in November isn't the last; a dozen more follow, until musket fire on the street fails to startle anyone in the Capitol. Peeta is kept busier and busier, and Katniss spends more and more time inside the Capitol, always with Clove, and it isn't until he sees Clove smirk, lean close to Katniss, and whisper into her ear, until he sees Katniss smile at whatever it is Clove says, that he realizes they are friends.

He asks her that night. "Is Clove Ableman still determined to prove you are a spy?" he asks.

"I don't think so," Katniss replies.

"But it seems wherever you are, she is as well," Peeta says.

Katniss shrugs. "She doesn't much care for cross-stitched pillows either."

He isn't sure how winter melts into spring, or how spring wilts into summer. Peeta stops using his cane in February, and he starts to write editorials in March, as he promised Heavensbee he would.

Any suspicion Crane harbored towards Peeta and Katniss fades in the winter, as he is far more concerned with Confederate plans to make another offensive strike against the Union, because the Shenandoah Valley, and Winchester within it, will surely be involved.

Peeta listens to every plan, and he writes them into editorials, hides information about where Confederate General Early plans to attack next in stirring declarations about how the Confederates must maintain their morale in this final stretch to free the Confederate States of America from the tyrannical fist of Abraham Lincoln.

But as the summer heat starts to wane, as July becomes August and August becomes September, troops under General Early start to pour in to Winchester at long last, and the whispers start to rise.

Peeta hears them as he takes count, as he runs drills, as he walks down the street: the Union plans to attack. General Sheridan wants to take the valley for the North, and his skirmishes all across the valley with General Early will end in Winchester. The Yankees are about to surround Winchester.

A real battle is about to be fought.

But Crane denies it, and word from Early himself is much the same. Sheridan will not attack.

Katniss asks Peeta what he thinks. "The war started on Virginia soil," he says, "and it will end on Virginia soil." Her hand tightens around his elbow as a dozen Confederate soldiers pass them on the street. "The Union cannot win the war if they don't control the valley," he adds. "They need it."

Sheridan _will_ attack. Early is a fool to think otherwise. A real battle _is_ about to be fought.

It is only a matter of when.

"But if a battle comes to Winchester," Katniss murmurs when her returns from count that night, and she watches him as he unlaces his boots, "you will be expected to fight. For the Confederacy."

"It won't be the first time," he replies, "and probably not the last." He waits for more, and it comes.

"I understand that you must be within the Confederate army to ferret out the information that the Union requires," she says, hesitant, "but how can you raise your musket against Union troops?"

He pulls off his boots. "I thought that, too, when Heavensbee first recruited me."

"And you changed your mind?" she asks.

"I used to think I could not raise my musket against Union boys," he continues, "but how is it any different, Katniss, than raising it against Rebel boys? They're all boys, and none deserve to die." He swallows thickly. "But I must raise my musket to someone, because this is a war, and it can only end if we fight for it to end."

He pulls off his frock, and his shirt, and Katniss looks at the wall, and he smiles at that.

"I wish you did not have to fight at all," she says softly.

"Me, too," he replies. "Heavensbee told me that there are spies who simply steal uniforms from the dead, slip behind enemy lines, and pretend to be in a company for a few days before they slip away with the information they need, but those men cannot infiltrate the officer ranks. And I can. I _have_."

He pulls on his sleep shirt, and he slips into bed beside her.

She rests her head on his chest, her cheek over his heartbeat. "Do you have nightmares?" she asks.

"Almost every night," he admits. "But they're not as bad when I'm with you." He threads his fingers through her hair, and her breath evens out a few minutes later as she succumbs to sleep.

She is still asleep when he wakes for drills, and he hasn't yet started to dress when someone knocks on the door. It isn't Effie, not this early, but the knock is too soft to be another soldier. He moves to the door, blocking Katniss from view as he opens the door. But it is only Clove.

"Mr. Mellark," she says, her eyes haughty; she might've befriended Katniss, but she doesn't seem to possess any fondness for Peeta. "I would have thought you would already be with your troops."

"I am on my way, in fact," he says. "Is everything alright, Mrs. Ableman?" He doesn't trust her.

Her husband in among the cruelest men he has ever had the misfortune to meet.

"I only wanted to speak with Mrs. Mellark," she replies, "woman to woman." Her smile is cold. "I can wait until you are dressed, however." And she steps back.

He is tempted to tell her no, to tell her that she ought to wait until the sun is risen, or even to tell her that she should not bother his wife _at all_, but she is not really his wife, and he cannot dictate her friends. He tells her he shall only be a minute, and he closes the door. He dresses quickly, slips on his coat, laces his boots, and he touches Katniss on the shoulder. "Clove wants to speak with you," he tells her.

She frowns, face sleepy, but a moment later she rubs her eyes, sits up, and nods.

He opens the door, his musket and his cap in his hands, and Clove sweeps into the room. He watches with more than a little shock when she climbs onto the bed beside Katniss. She looks at him, expectant; he puts on his cap, leaves, closing the door behind himself.

He is kept with the troops all day, and he doesn't see Katniss until after dinner. He finds her sitting up in bed, writing a letter to Madge that will be folded into the letter Mrs. Abernathy sends. She smiles a little when she sees him, and he wants simply to fall into bed and sleep for a month, but he needs to ask.

"What did Clove want?"

Her smile fades. "She is pregnant."

He is stunned.

Katniss sets aside her letter. "I couldn't believe it either," she admits. "She hasn't told anyone else yet. But how is it possible, Peeta? How can Clove have a child when a war ravages the country?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know." He tugs off his boots.

"And what if something happens to Cato?" she asks. "He is an _awful_ man, Peeta, a cruel, hateful man, but he is to be a father, and he is the only family that Clove has. What if he is killed in battle?"

He doesn't know what to say, and she doesn't seem to expect a real response.

After he flicks off the lamp, however, after he climbs onto the bed, she whispers it.

"This is why I never want to have children," she says. "This is why I never want to wed."

And he can't help himself. "What about after the war?" he asks. She doesn't reply, and he takes her silence as reason to continue. "Cato might be cruel and hateful, but he does seem to love his wife, and what if we were not in a war? It would not be so terrible, would it, to find someone who loved you without reserve, to make a home together, to have a few ankle-biters who would climb into your bed on Christmas Eve to listen to you recite _A Visit from Saint Nicholas_?"

"It isn't ever so simple, war or not," she says. "I saw how love ruined my mother."

"And what about how love saved Haymitch Abernathy?" He pauses. "The Mexican War still haunts him, yet he is not a lost man, not entirely, not as long as sweet, happy Maysilee Abernathy stays beside him."

Katniss doesn't respond.

"What about Gale Hawthorne?" he tries. "After the war, you could marry Gale Hawthorne."

She does not deserve to be so jaded, to be so afraid. He can't let her be afraid.

She deserves to have a husband, to have children, to have a happy life. And maybe, if she truly does not want children, she does not need them. But everyone needs love, and she is no exception.

"I could never marry Gale," she says. "Maybe before the war I might have been convinced to wed him, but too much has changed." Her voice is wistful. "No, much as I miss him, much as I love him, I couldn't wed him."

And what about _me_?

But Peeta doesn't ask that.

He only leans over, and he kisses her forehead. He is almost asleep when he feels her press a kiss to his shirt, to his chest, to his heart. He doesn't have any nightmares that night, and neither does Katniss.

It is still dark out when someone pounds on the door. Peeta blinks, confused, and John shouts his name. Peeta looks at Katniss, who stares at him with wide eyes, and John pounds harder on the door. Peeta stumbles from the bed and tears open the door, and John tells him everything in one breath.

General Early is on his way to Winchester, because General Sheridan is on his way as well.

This is it. The third battle for Winchester is about to start. It seems too sudden, too soon, but it isn't.

"I'll be down in a minute," Peeta says.

"Peet," Nick says, a reluctant protest in his voice.

But Peeta repeats himself, teeth gritted. "A minute, Nick."

Nick nods, eyes flickering to Katniss for a moment, and he steps back, lets Peeta shut the door.

Katniss stands, arms folded tightly over her chest, hair falling all around her shoulders. "It will be safest if you stay in the Capitol," he tells her. She starts to shake her head. "The battle could spill into the streets, Katniss, and if you are not killed, you could be captured, or raped, or worse still."

He can see the protest burn in her eyes, but she doesn't try to argue with him.

Nick knocks on the door, a reminder. Peeta moves to the bed and starts to pull on his boots, but he fumbles with the laces, is too distracted, and Katniss is suddenly at his feet, taking the laces from him, and she ties them quickly, easily, before she looks at him, and he cannot read her expression.

He stands, and she hands him his coat, helps him pull it on and button it closed. He catches her elbow in his hands. She looks at him. And he releases her, and he steps towards the door, and —

And he whirls around. He takes her hands, pulls her to his chest, kisses her.

It a hurried, nervous kiss, barely lasts a moment, and he cannot manage to meet her eyes as he steps back, runs a hand through his hair, and pulls on his cap. But as he starts towards the door, resolute, she wraps her arm around his chest and presses close to him, her forehead on his back.

He covers her hand with his.

"I want you to come back," she whispers. "I _need_ you to come back."

Her fingers curl into his coat, and his heart beats unsteadily in his chest, and Nick knocks on the door, a little louder, impatient. But Peeta only turns around, and he pulls Katniss flush to his chest.

He holds her hip, and he cups her face, and she kisses him, a warm, wet, desperate kiss, a _real_ kiss.

"Peeta!" Nick says, voice sharp even when muffled through the door. "_We're out of time!_"

Katniss presses her hand flat to his chest, and he steps back. They stare at each other. Nick raps on the door. Peeta crosses the room in two quick strides, tears open the door, and nods curtly at an apologetic Nick. Peeta looks at Katniss, tips his hat, and leaves, closing the door behind himself.

He stares at it for a moment, the closed door, Katniss behind it. Alone. "Come on, Peet," Nick says. "You'll back for your girl." Peeta nods, and they start towards the stairs, towards the fight.

**tbc.**

a/n: whew, this chapter covered a lot! I hope it wasn't hard to follow. The next chapter is a little, um, _intense_, so I hoped you liked my attempts at fluffiness in this one! And, just so you know, the current plan for the story is eleven chapters, so four more after this!


	8. Chapter 8

a/n: this didn't turn out _at all_ the way I thought I would, and it might not be the most exciting chapter in the world, but I think I like it, and it's an important one. I hope it's worth the wait! :)

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><p>The room that seemed so large when she first arrived is suddenly so small.<p>

She feels trapped, pacing across the floor, peaking out the window, helpless. Her hands are steady as she dresses in the most sensible, warm clothes she owns, because she needs to be prepared. She braids her hair. She makes the bed. She washes her face. She paces. She peaks out the window.

She is helpless.

The streets are empty, the battle not yet having reached the town itself. It makes her stomach churn.

A street should never be so empty, as if only ghosts are left.

The battle will surely fill the streets soon enough, though, and bodies will line the pavement.

She can see it, how he would look if he were dead, how the color would flee his face, how blood would stain his soft, blonde curls, how dull his eyes would look, and her throat burns with sick.

How does she continue to fail those few for whom she cares? She used to think that Prim was the only person in the world she loved, and she promised herself that she would always protect Prim, yet she fled Winchester and left someone else to protect Prim. And she took Rue under her charge, told the little girl that they were family, yet she sent Rue down a dangerous road and didn't follow.

But it was best for Prim like that, and Rue is surely safer wherever she is now.

What about Peeta?

They were supposed to protect each other. But he is fighting on a battlefield, and she is trapped.

She almost wants to bow her head, to say a pray to a God she isn't sure exists, because at least she would not feel so helpless. But if God does exist, he would not listen to undevout, unkind Katniss.

Her mother and her sister and Mrs. Abernathy can say the prayers, and Katniss will keep quiet.

But she _can't_ keep quiet. She can't stay trapped. She can't. _Can't_.

She wants to scream. She wants to run. She wants to hold a pig sticker in her hands, just to feel the cold metal and hard wood against her palms. She wants to hold Prim, to laugh at Gale, to see Rue.

And she needs Peeta.

He is the honesty that her father was, a belief in what is right so firmly planted inside his heart, and he is the loyalty that Gale was, her steadfast friend no matter what, and he is the sweetness that Prim was, always able to tempt her lips to smile rather than to scowl. The idea that he might die —

It terrifies her in a way that she hates, a way that somehow makes her more terrified.

She feels as if they've shared a hundred kisses since he arrived at the Capitol, but they were careful kisses, meant for an audience, familiar touches between friends who stood back to back against all.

The kiss before he left wasn't like that; it wasn't careful, wasn't for an audience, wasn't familiar. It made her chest tighten the way his declaration of love did. It made something stir inside her, something that reminder her of the way his affection shines in his eyes when he looks at her, when he presents her with pictures he drew simply to make her smile, when he strokes her hair at night because he thinks she is asleep. But it did more than that, too. It made her stomach twist and turn with a strange, new, tantalizing warmth.

And a moment later he left to fight, and she wishes he would return to she could strangle him for it.

She paces across the room, her back sore from the tension that makes her bones brittle and knotted.

A sudden panic strikes her when she hears light footsteps in the hall, but the panic settles into the pit of her stomach, its old familiar home, when Clove calls her name and knocks softly on the door.

"I thought it would be easier to wait with someone else," Clove says, and Katniss nods.

Clove looks composed, of course, as if her husband were not on a battlefield, and Katniss almost envies the other woman, not for her shiny hair in a pretty twist, nor for her silk dress with pearls sewn across the dipping neckline. No, Katniss envies how calmly the other woman carries herself.

"An hour hasn't even passed," Katniss says, and the rest needs not be said. Clove understands. An hour hasn't even passed, yet she feels as if she cannot possibly be expected to wait another second.

"Are you packed?" Clove asks, moving to sit.

Katniss frowns. "Am I packed?" she repeats, and she sees the small carpetbag that Clove holds.

Clove raises her eyebrows, as if she can't understand why Katniss is confused. "To run," she says, before she sighs, almost as if she pities simple Katniss. "We must be ready to run as soon as the Confederates are forced to retreat, Katniss, unless we become trapped under Yankee occupation."

"Do you _expect_ the Confederates will be forced to retreat?"

The smile Clove offers isn't much of a smile. "It is always prudent to prepare for the worst."

It occurs suddenly to Katniss that perhaps it _wouldn't_ be the worst. If the Confederates were forced to retreat, that would mean a victory for the Union, an important victory that would help them end the war. If the Confederates were forced to retreat, Katniss would escape the Capitol, and she could find Peeta, and they would be safer. But that is if she is able to escape and if he is able to survive.

Her throat constricts. He will survive. He is smart, and he is an excellent shot, and he will survive.

"Pack your most valuable jewelry," Clove says, "but try to keep your bag light. One change of clothes. I have food enough for us both, but if you have any herbs, anything useful, pack that, too."

Katniss nods. She pulls the small, tattered bag from the under the bed, the small bag that Rue packed for Katniss when they first fled. She searches out her most sensible clothing, which isn't much, but she doesn't need much. Her canteen is still inside the pack, and that is all she needs.

Clothes, water, food. She doesn't have jewelry to pack, or anything of value.

No. She has the pictures from Peeta, and she has letters from Madge. She finds them, hidden safely in her wardrobe, and carefully tucks them into her pack. That's it. She looks over at Clove.

Her friend, if that's what Clove is, smiles. "And now we wait."

"I suppose this isn't the first time you've done this," Katniss says. She _hopes_ it isn't the first time.

"No," Clove says, "this isn't the first time I've done this." She shifts to look out the window.

Clove isn't kind, and she isn't concerned for what is right, and she doesn't fight for a cause, but she loves her husband, and she is determined to survive, and maybe that is all Katniss needs, someone else desperate to see herself and those she loves survive this war. They can escape the Capitol, find their husbands, survive. Clove trusts Katniss, and Katniss will be smart enough not to trust Clove.

Not entirely, at least.

The morning passes slowly, painfully. As soon as the church bells chime that it is noon, Katniss is on her feet. "I need something to eat," she tells Clove, and she is out the door before Clove can protest. It is not as if any Yankees await her in the kitchen. The servants are all anxious, and it is exactly like it was last year, when the Confederates arrived and took the city from the Yankees.

She doesn't have much of an appetite, but she manages to eat a little something, at least.

She hasn't had anything to eat all day, after all, and she doesn't know what the rest of the day holds.

It is so quiet. It doesn't seem real that in the fields and the forests outside the city, a battle rages.

Mrs. Abernathy appears in the kitchen, flustered, and tries to make Katniss eat more. The older woman cannot sit still, and Katniss doesn't blame her. She slips away at last, and she makes her way outside. She sinks her fingers into the dirt, feels the sun on the back of her neck, and breathes in.

She imagines for a moment what would've happened if that man never came for Prim.

Is home exactly as she left it? It might be a little more ravaged. A little more bleak.

But she might still be living at her own house, and Prim would be at her side, writing and reciting dreadful poetry, and Rue would smile as she listened patiently, and they would all be together. She thinks Gale probably would have convinced Katniss to live with his family. They would be safe.

That isn't what happened, though. That isn't her life. She isn't at home with Prim and Rue.

The musket.

It occurs to her suddenly, randomly, that the musket she kept at her side for so many months to defend her house and herself and her little charges, the musket that she used to kill a man, is in the woods. She buried it when she came to Winchester, and it might be undistributed. She needs it.

She shouldn't wander the city, but it isn't dangerous until the troops arrive, and they haven't yet.

She runs to the woods, legs pumping under her, out of practice, but the motions are familiar, and she feels so _right_ for the first time in months. The woods are a little cooler, pleasant, but she can't remember exactly where they hid the musket, and she wanders with light steps and anxious eyes.

She recognizes the gnarled trunk of a huge oak, though, and she tries to keep her hands steady as she tears through the dirt. They didn't bury it deep, and her dulled nails scrape against metal after a moment. She almost wants to laugh, and she smears dirt on her dress and on her face, but she pulls the musket from the earth, and she wraps her hands around the cool wood and feels stronger for it.

The sun is high in the sky, and she shouldn't linger.

She moves to her feet, wipes the sweat from her forehead, and returns to the Capitol as quickly as she can. She hasn't' decided yet what to tell Clove about the musket, and her heart stutters for a moment when she sees Clove at the door to the kitchens, waiting. Katniss holds the musket tighter.

"I was worried," Clove says.

Katniss decides to try for as close to the truth as she can manage. "I came to Winchester with this," she says, "but I didn't think I would need it in the Capitol, so I buried it in the woods." It isn't a lie.

"Smart," Clove murmurs, nodding. "Come on." She holds open the door, beckons Katniss inside.

She cleans the musket, and the church bells chime that it is three o'clock. The city is still quiet.

And suddenly it isn't. A man on horseback comes tearing through the street, shouting, and Katniss stumbles to the window to watch with Clove, and they shove open the window to hear him scream that the Union surrounds Winchester, that the Confederates must retreat, that Winchester is lost.

A moment later, the street is chaotic as people stream from their houses, and Confederate troops, uniforms bloodied, dragging injured friends, start to dot the street, and Katniss can see the smoke in the distance, but it isn't really the distance; it is close, so close, the battle having reached the city.

"Come," Clove snaps, voice hard. "We can't waste a moment."

They're down the stairs before Haymitch stops them. "It's too late," he says. "Hide the musket."

"The retreat only started moments ago," Clove says, "it isn't too late."

Haymitch shakes his head. "The Union is too many," he says, voice low and urgent, "and they've slaughtered the Rebels. The only escape is through a stretch of land about as slim as the neck of a bottle, and half the troops won't make it, let alone you two. Hide the musket. Stay in your rooms."

"I will not be a prisoner of war," Clove spits, face contorted.

"But you'll be a raped corpse left to rot, Mrs. Ableman, is that it?" Haymitch snarls.

Clove presses her lips together, silent.

Haymitch looks at Katniss. "They'll turn the Capitol into a hospital, I'm sure of it. If you hide in the kitchens and pretend to be a servant, the Union will ask you to tend to the soldiers. And, as long as you're useful, they won't touch you." His eyes bore into hers, and she nods and starts up the stairs.

She needs to hide the musket, and to change into simpler clothes, and to —

"Katniss," Clove says. "We _need_ to run!"

"We can't," Katniss replies, and she hurries up the stairs, around the corner, to her room. Her hands shake as she changes into simpler clothes, but she hides the musket under the bed in the empty room beside hers, and she folds the drawings and the letter and puts them in her pockets.

She isn't sure whether Clove left or not, but she makes her way to the kitchens, and no one says a word, no one acts surprised, a few even offer small, understanding smiles. They've all started to boil water to wash bandages, and Katniss helps them. All she can think about, however, is Peeta.

What does this mean for him?

The Union slaughtered the Rebels, Haymitch said.

But they didn't slaughter Peeta. He is still alive, and he will retreat, escape, survive. He will find a way to return to her, though; she is sure of it. She told him she needs him to come back, and he will.

Or she will escape, and she will find him. They decided to survive this war together, and they will.

The Union arrives to take the city, and Katniss carries fresh bandages made from torn linens to the ballroom, where bloodied, dying soldiers already lie in rows. She keeps her head bowed, and she follows orders from a surly nurse who must've arrived with the Yankees. No one notices Katniss.

She is simply another pair of hands to help, as Haymitch said she would be.

She tries to keep an eye out for Clove, but she doesn't see the other woman.

She is exhausted, hungry, dress stained with the blood of boys, when Haymitch catches her around the elbow as she crosses the hall, and he pulls her aside. "They found your musket," he says, "but they don't know to whom it belongs, and no one cares too much. But you should sleep in the kitchens tonight. It'll be safer. They locked Mrs. Ableman upstairs, the stupid cow, but she's fine."

Katniss nods, but she can see he has more to say. Her heart starts to tighten. "And?' she murmurs.

"They've taken Mr. Mellark."

The words don't seem to fit, and Katniss cannot make herself understand.

"He wasn't killed," Haymitch says, "but he wasn't able to retreat. He's a prisoner of war."

"No," Katniss breathes. He can't be.

"I saw them march him through the street myself," Haymitch says. "It could be worse. He could've been killed. As it is, I suspect he'll be sent to Point Lookout in Maryland. That's the closest camp."

It's impossible. Of all the scenarios she imagined, that was never one. It isn't possible.

"But he is _for_ the Union," Katniss hisses at Haymitch. "He can't be a Confederate prisoner of war."

"And how do you intend to prove that, Katniss?" he asks. "He wears Confederate cotton, fights with Confederate soldiers, is a Confederate lieutenant. Those who know otherwise cannot help, unless you know some way to contact Heavensbee that I do not." He raises his eyebrows at her.

"I can talk to Boggs," Katniss says, desperate. "He will help."

That's it. General Boggs. He will be able to return Peeta to Katniss, and they will join the Yankees who occupy Winchester. They won't spy any longer, no; they will help the Union hold Winchester.

But Haymitch shakes his head, a small, sad shake, and something akin to pain flashes in his eyes.

"No, Boggs can't help you," he tells her.

"He _can_," she insists.

"Katniss," he says, his grip on her arm so tight, "Boggs is dead."

* * *

><p>They're all dead.<p>

Nick is dead. Arthur is dead. John is dead. Abraham is dead. All his friends. He saw them killed. And half the soldiers whose heads he counted every night are dead, too, men who he drilled every day, men who truly believed they fought for what is right, men whose bloody bodies have been left to rot under the sun in the forest and the fields that surround Winchester. It makes his stomach roll.

He saw Marvel killed, too, his eye shot out of his head, another two bullets buried in his chest.

As soon as the gap opened in the Confederate forces, the Union won. It was that simple. They tried to close the gap, of course; Peeta tried, but he couldn't, and those Confederates that could retreat didn't hesitate. It was the only way, even if it left a few dozen behind, a few dozen who are a pathetic lot, bloodied and bruised, faces coated in sweat and dirt, their skin peeling from the sun.

Peeta needs something to drink, but any water that can be found will be for the Yankees.

And Peeta isn't about to convince a soul that he is a Yankee, too.

He doesn't even have the heart to try. He cannot afflict another blow on the other captured Confederates. They were stripped of their arms, hands tied. The rope chafes his wrist, and his throat burns with sick when Peeta sees flakes of old blood rub off the rope to stick to his skin.

Peeta and Cato are the only two captured officers, and the Yankees drag them to the front.

They are marched through Winchester itself, right past the Capitol, and Peeta desperately searches for some sign of Katniss. But perhaps it would be better not to see her, because the streets swarm with Yankees, and the porch outside the Capitol does, too. He cannot think about what they might do to her. He is for the Union, and he should be overjoyed that such a victory is theirs, but —

He doesn't have the stomach for war.

"As soon as we're freed," Cato murmurs to Peeta the first night, as they are camped outside the city. "I'm cut off all their cocks and shove the pricks down their throats." His eyes are murderous.

Peeta shakes his head. They will be freed only if the war ends, and that is not for certain.

"And if they _touch_ Clove," Cato breathes, but he doesn't finish; he bares his teeth like some sort of feral, furious animal, and Peeta stares at the road. Clove is tough. So is Katniss. They might've escaped. Or they might be able to fight their way out if they haven't yet, if they are in any danger.

A small, emaciated Yankee tosses them a canteen, already half empty, and Peeta swallows his potion so quickly he chokes. It is almost painful to offer the rest to Cato, but he is not so selfish.

He doesn't sleep that night. He can't. He is exhausted, but all he can see when he closes his eyes are all the ways that his friends died, bullets to their heads, to their bellies, to their chests. It isn't the first time that Peeta watches a friend die, but it is the first time he watched all his friends be killed.

And what about Katniss, trapped alone in the Capitol? Is she safer under Union occupation?

She is. He must believe that. She is safe. The Union officers will not mistreat her. They won't.

He repeats the words to himself until first light.

Maybe she even escaped, found some way to flee, and is safe.

They reach Norfolk that afternoon, and they're forced onto a steamboat with at least a hundred other Confederate prisoners of war, all with much the same defeat sloping their tired shoulders.

He empties his stomach in the hull of the transport, and no one seems to care, packed as they are, all sick and tired, hands tied, throats parched. He sleeps a little, but it isn't restful, isn't really sleep, and the steamboat reaches shore at last. The night is finished, and the sun is already high and hot.

It is a narrow strip of land, and the sounds from the camp are like those of a city.

Peeta tries to focus on that, on the sounds of industry, on the smell of fresh air, on the sight of the bay, rather than on the coffins stacked outside, or on the muddy, tattered tents scattered across the prison camp, or on how thin the prisoners look, how poorly clothed they are, how sad their state is.

At least half the men don't even have pants.

He is marched to the smaller pen with the other officers, but it isn't much better. He sees no familiar faces, but a few men recognize Cato, and Peeta finds himself with friends, men with rotten teeth, unkempt beards, and faces caked in dirt. It won't be long, after all, before he looks like that as well.

He is famished, and the thirst is endless, but he is led to a mess hall at last.

It isn't much to eat, or to drink, but it is enough to stave off the pain, and he can fall asleep.

The others show him where to relieve himself in the sinks built into the east wall, but Brutus only laughs and tells Peeta to take a piss wherever he likes. "It ain't like we could make the place any filthier if we tried." He spits, laughs, and pisses on the dirt at that moment, as if to prove his point.

Peeta can't say he cares much for Brutus, a hulking man, crass and cruel, a man worse than Cato.

But he likes the others, and he finds every way he can to escape the pen for a little while, to escape the cramped tents, the awful smells, because it is all he can do to make the days pass. He volunteers for the squads that collect felled trees for firewood, or to whitewash buildings and to unload boats.

The first week passes, uneventful, and he starts to adjust.

He isn't sure what is worse, the wind from the water, tearing through his clothes, or the sun that reflects off the water, and the sand, and the whitewash, and makes his eyes water. He is blind for an hour around twilight, eyes unable to adjust. "It's better than it was in the summer," Brutus tells Peeta, "but the wind is worse, a'course. And it's the wind that sends most boys to the dead house."

The wind _is_ worse, he decides.

He shares a tent with four other men to stay warm from the wind. It'll be worse when winter arrives. The tents won't suddenly start to protect against the wind, nor will his clothes, but the cold will come, and Peeta begins to dread it. They're allowed to build fire pits if they make the bricks themselves, and Cato helps him build a small shanty with the wood from the cracker boxes.

He thinks about it often, how he might be able to find a way to escape.

It isn't as if he would try to run, of course.

But what if he demanded to talk to a Union officer? What if he could he reveal his loyalties?

He could tell them that he worked for Heavensbee. His name must carry weight.

He shakes his head. It is exactly like last winter, when Yankees jeered at him, a bullet in his leg, Katniss pressed against him, as helpless as he. He cannot prove who he is. No one will listen. And, to make matters worse, he isn't even sure he should risk it. After all, it is best if as few people as possible know who Heavensbee is. And if Heavensbee wants to help Peeta, he can. He will.

He will realize that Peeta hasn't written anything in weeks, is out of contact, is useless to the cause, and he will find out what happened, and he will see that Peeta is released. All Peeta can do is wait.

It rains for the first time, and it soaks every soldier; the tents all leak, and most collapse under the weight, but the rain isn't all bad. It washes the dirt from their faces, and it clears away the sweat and rot and shit that permeates the air. But night comes, and Peeta can't feel his fingers or his toes in the cold, and he grinds his teeth to try to fight off the cold. The rain stops, the sun rises, and the whole camp is slick, smelly mud. They start a fire in their shoddy brick fire pit, though, a small comfort.

Peeta rubs his hands over the flickering flames.

"Know what I could use right about now?" Nate asks, propping his feet, toes sticking out from what remains of his boots, on the edge of the bricks. He looks around at them with a toothy smile.

Peeta likes Nate, who never seems downtrodden despite a year spent in the camp.

"A hot bath," Jacob offers.

"Oh, hell, Jake," Michael says, "no more fucking water. A hot breakfast, that's what I need."

"And a kettle of coffee," Peeta adds. He hasn't had coffee in years.

Michael nods. "A little chew, too. Maybe a dollop a'moonshine in that coffee." He grins.

"All y'all are ass-backwards fools," Cato interrupts. He shakes his head at them. "I'll let you take your breakfast and your coffee and your chew, and you let me have a woman, how's about that?"

"A woman?" Nate says, frowning. "Can't say I remember what that is."

Peeta chuckles, and Michael slaps Nate on the back. "Poor fellow."

"There're a few 'round here," Jacob says. "I suppose pretty little girls can be prisoners of war, too."

And it occurs suddenly to Peeta that perhaps Katniss would be taken as a prisoner of war, that all the ladies at the Capitol would be. But Haymitch would protect them, of course; no, Katniss isn't at this camp, somewhere out of sight, starving in filth like he is. She isn't. She is safe. She escaped.

"I met this sweetheart when I was on firewood duty," Jacob continues, "pretty, dark thing."

Peeta is being irrational. It isn't Katniss.

"I asked her how a little lady like she is ended up in this damn camp," Jacob says, "and she smiled this wicked little smile but didn't answer. The fat, squat Yankee with the rusted pig sticker told me, though, that she was a Confederate spy." He smiles. "Ain't about to find a pretty Yankee girl who would spy for old Mr. Lincoln. Nah. It's only our Confederate women with guts like that, ain't it?"

"I'd reckon that's why the Yanks didn't want us to leave," Nate says. "They knew we'd take all the best women." He laughs, and Cato and Jacob shout their agreement. Peeta tries to muster a smile.

Ben stumbles towards them, and he shoves Nate so that he can take a seat. His face is pale.

"I can't believe you was at the sinks for that long," Cato says. "Got the clap, kid?"

Ben holds his hands over the fire. "Don't start with me, Able. Anybody got something to drink?"

"It ain't clap," Nate tells Cato. "It's quick step."

"Quick step?" Cato echoes. "So he's been shitting for the last hour?" He chuckles a little.

"Laugh all you like," Brutus grunts, surprising Peeta, who thought the man who asleep where he sat. "But you ain't gonna laugh when it's you, and it'll be you. Ain't a soul that escapes quick step."

The shouts and whistles from the mess hall start, and they all lumber to their feet. Michael helps Ben to his, and Peeta wonders how much longer Ben will live, if he is already so weak. Peeta saw plenty of men die from it in the army camps, and an army camp is a paradise compared to this pen.

As it turns out, it is another week before Nate wakes up to find Ben dead beside him.

Peeta thought nothing could be worse than when he saw someone slash Abraham across the side so his intestines poured out, or than when he saw John choke on blood, eyes pained, death slow to claim him, until Arthur, in a fit of mercy, killed John, bashing his head in with the butt of a musket.

But somehow to look at Ben, so thin, so pale, lying dead as flies circle, makes Peeta feel sicker.

He didn't sleep well when he first arrived, nightmares from the battle too vivid, and sleep doesn't come any easier as time passes. He catches quick step, too, only days after Cato does, but they haven't been at the camp long, and they're still strong, and they can survive. The next few days pass in a thirsty haze, but Peeta recovers. It rains the next day, and the small, sharp drops are painful against the sunburnt skin of his face. But the cool, clean rain still makes Peeta feel a little better.

He can't help dreading when the rain will becomes snow and sleet, though.

The mud is knee deep inside the pen, but the outskirts along the wall aren't so bad, so Peeta spends the afternoon circling the walls. He tries to make small talk with the guards, because those they favor always fare better, and it is almost twilight when someone knocks on the wall. From the other side. He frowns, a little alarmed, but he steps closer, and he can make out the shape of a face in a slim crack between the boards.

A dark pair of eyes meets his. "Overhead," a woman whispers. He doesn't understand, but he tilts his head, and a small sack sails over the wall for him to catch. "May God keep you well, soldier."

The woman disappears, and Peeta kneels beside the wall to search through the sack. A coat is inside, and pants, and socks, and food. His mouth waters. He wishes he had thought to thank her.

He pulls the clothes on over his, and he is tempted to eat all the food as well, but he should share.

It isn't much, a dozen crackers, all wonderfully free of worms, dried apple slices that melt on his tongue, and two fat, heavy potatoes, but he splits them between himself, Cato, and Nate, and they aren't able to save anything for the others. It makes his stomach hurt, the sudden onslaught of food.

Cato declares that he intends to spend every waking moment at the wall.

Peeta nods, warm and happy, and he sleeps a little better that night.

He wakes with the sun on his face, and he doesn't remember for a moment where he is. It is only a moment, a brief, beautiful moment, when he thinks he is in a bed, and he thinks the warm body pressed against his back is Katniss, and he thinks he is a blessed man. And then the wind blows.

It burns against his cheek, and he opens his eyes, and he wonders how he will die.

The war could carry on for years. He could become thin and weak. He could die in this camp.

He wonders if Katniss would ever find out what happened.

And his empty stomach twists when he thinks about what could happen if he _did_ manage to survive. He would be released when the war ended, turned as crude and cruel as the others, skin weathered from the sun and the wind, made into leather, his teeth black and chipped and lost.

But it isn't as if Katniss would care.

He wasn't a friend to her before the war, and he became a way to survive during the war. He thinks for a moment what would've happened if he ever managed to ask her to marry him. She would've stared, stunned, before she told him that she was not meant for marriage, and that would've been it.

If he survives, he will find Rue, and maybe they can stay in Philadelphia. After all, they must have bakeries in Philadelphia. And maybe Rue will want to return to Virginia, to Katniss, but he won't.

Michael kicks Peeta in the shin. "Wake up. The mud'll swallow you up if you ain't careful."

Nate starts the fire, and Peeta pushes himself to his feet, stretches, and moves to sit beside the pit. The fire is warm, and they still have a little water saved from the cracker boxes they use to collect rain.

It makes him feel better, the warmth and the water, and he remembers the kindness from last night.

He can't let bitterness overtake him. He can't.

He thinks the sudden shouts are for breakfast. But they don't come from the mess hall, and he looks over at Nate, who frowns. A musket fires, and half the men in the camp are at the west wall.

Another musket fires, and Peeta is on his feet a moment later, stalking towards the crowd, Nate and Michael on either side of him. But the Yankees start to shove the crowd of prisoners, who shout and swear but start to clear a path when the Yankees point their muskets. Peeta stops in his tracks.

A man is dead. It wasn't a bullet. His neck is twisted at an odd angle. Someone snapped his neck.

Peeta watches with everyone else as the guard hauls the dead man over his shoulder and starts towards the dead house, but another guard starts to shout, to ask what happened, to demand answers from the other prisoners. A fight started, Peeta thinks, and the guards fired their muskets into the air to stop it, but they were too late; the man was killed. The guards don't know who did it.

No prisoner is about to rat out a fellow Confederate to the Yankees, though.

As Peeta stares across the open space, it seems impossible that the guards don't see it.

He smiles and stalks calmly from the wall, from the crowd, from the murder. As he passes Peeta, though, he hands him an apple without a word, an apple stolen from a sack that another man caught and died to defend, and Peeta wonders when he become allies with a murderer like Cato Ableman.

* * *

><p>Thresh is dead.<p>

Katniss almost doesn't believe it. She doesn't want to believe it, but that doesn't make it untrue. He is dead, as is Boggs, as are so many men, those left on the field, those dying inside the Capitol, so many men. Katniss is trapped inside with all those dying men, unable to escape the hotel, unable to help Peeta.

Her days are plenty full, but she isn't a nurse; her hand isn't gentle, and she doesn't have the stomach for blood. They have little medicine to offer the wounded, and they run out of bandages. The moans from the men are heard everywhere inside the Capitol, and they last through the night.

A week passes, and the Capitol is like a different place.

Effie isn't there; Katniss doesn't know what happened to her. She doesn't see Mrs. Abernathy often, and she never sees Clove. She doesn't see any of the ladies, in fact. She is free to leave the Capitol as she pleases, but the streets are packed with soldiers, and the land beyond is a graveyard, most bodies not yet buried. She stays inside, looks after the Union soldiers, and keeps her head down.

General Sheridan doesn't stay at the Capitol, but he passes through.

He is smaller than she expected, shorter and scrappier than she would have thought a man as important as he would be, but he bounces on his squat legs with every step, eyes wild as he barks enthusiastic orders. He is the favorite topic of conversation among the servants; they gossip about his habits, his mannerisms, his tactics. He will help win the war like he won Winchester, they say, and during the battle he rode his horse along the Union lines, waving his hat, shouting that victory was imminent, they say, and he will burn the valley the way Sherman burns the South, they say.

She sees him in the ballroom a fortnight after the battle, and she is seized with the sudden idea to ask him for help. What if she told him that she was a spy? What if she explained that Peeta was a spy? He might be able to help them. But it is like Haymitch said. She doesn't have any proof at all.

She wishes their roles were reversed. If she were in a prison camp, Peeta would know how to help her escape. He would know what to say to Sheridan, would know how to convince him, would find the right words to make him believe the truth, but Katniss possesses no such way with words.

But if she could find _some_ way to convince Sheridan of the truth —

He crosses the room to say something to another officer, and she starts towards him. He doesn't seem to notice her until she stands right in front of him. "Is something the matter, ma'am?" he asks.

And she shakes her head, feeling like a coward for it.

Another week passes, and she can't sleep for the nightmares.

It was Peeta who kept them at bay for so long, and now they're _about_ Peeta; it takes her hours to fall asleep, and he features in her nightmares every night, beaten and bloodied and left for dead in a prison camp.

A sweet, honest, good man, left for dead. That can't be his fate. It can't. The nightmares trap her, and his voice is hoarse when he admits that he loves her, and he needs her to know, he needs to have said it before he dies, and his body is piled among faceless, dead men, and the sheets twist around her as she runs and runs and runs to reach him, but the nightmare won't let her.

Her breath is sharp and painful in her chest when she wakes, and he can't be dead.

She told him that she needs him to return, but that isn't the truth. She doesn't simply need him to return. She needs _him._ That's all. Him. And she remembers her mother, broken and defeated and lost when her father died, and she wonders if she says the word need when others would say love.

She loves Prim. She is certain of it. She loves Rue. She loves Gale.

But she doesn't _need_ them, does she? She needs Peeta, and she thinks about that kiss, and she brushes aside any doubt. She needs Peeta. And if others want to call it a different kind of love, the love her mother felt for her father, the love Prim possesses for Rory Hawthorne, the romantic kind of love, fine.

If he found a way to prove his loyalties, if he found a way to come back to the Capitol, she would tell him that she needs him. She would admit it. And he would understand what she meant, and she can imagine his slow smile; she can see it, and her fingers itch to trace the shape of the smile on his lips.

She allows herself to picture the future for the first time.

He will survive, and the war will end. They will find Rue, and they will return to Prim.

_And I'll marry you_, she promises silently, _survive, Peeta Mellark, and I'll marry you_.

She stares into the darkness, and new resolve solidifies. She won't wait for him to return.

She'll find him, and she'll bring him back herself.

There is nothing to keep her at the Capitol. She can leave, and she can head to Maryland, and she can find a way to have Peeta released. She _will_ find a way.

The first thing to do is talk to Clove.

It isn't as hard to do as she worries it will be. After all, Clove needs to eat, and Katniss asks Abigail in the kitchens who takes food to Mrs. Ableman. Abigail doesn't answer; she simply tells Katniss that she can take the food that day if she wishes, and Katniss smiles, grateful. A small tray is put together for Clove at noon, and Katniss takes the stairs to the third landing two at a time.

A Yankee soldier is stationed outside the room, leaning against the wall, clearly bored, and Katniss says a silent thanks that Haymitch sent her to the kitchens when he did rather than let her be identified as the wife of a Confederate officer. And she is lucky, too, that the servants all like her enough to keep quiet. She can't imagine how awful it would have been to be trapped like Clove is.

She smiles at the soldier, and he steals a biscuit off the tray as he opens the door for her.

"I would stay a few minutes to tend to Mrs. Ableman," she tells the soldier. He nods, and he closes the door behind her. The room is small, white, and clean, and Clove sits in a chair turned to the window, her back rigid. "It's me," Katniss murmurs. She sets the tray on the table.

"That's nice," Clove replies. She doesn't take her eyes off the window. "How's life in the kitchens?"

"Fine. I don't sleep much. I can't."

Clove turns at last, eyeing Katniss. "I can see that. You look like the dead come to life."

No. The purple smudges under her tried eyes don't make her look like the dead; the dead are bloodied and beaten, with ashen faces, with colorless lips, with empty eyes.

Katniss knows the dead. They visit her every night.

"I cannot claim you look much better," Katniss replies.

Clove smiles, humorless. "My husband is a prison of war, as am I. How should I look?"

"They took Peeta, too," Katniss says. "Mr. Abernathy says he was likely sent to Point Lookout."

"And what do you intend to do about that?" Clove asks.

"That's why I am here, actually," Katniss says. "I won't let him die in a prison camp. I won't. I want to start for Maryland as soon as I can. I have no reason to stay in the Capitol, not now; there is nothing to keep me. No one will miss me. I'm not sure how I will see him released, but I —"

"I don't understand," Clove interrupts, "why don't you _tell_ them?"

Katniss frowns. "Tell them what?"

"That he is a traitor for the Union," she replies, and her smile is cold. "Or did you think me a fool?"

She shakes her head. "He is not —"

"Don't lie to me, Katniss Mellark," Clove snaps. "He is a spy, and you are as well. I realized it months ago. It is the only thing that makes sense. A woman like you does not belong in high society, yet you were shrewd enough to pretend you did, only to act like a lovelorn quim when your husband arrived and General Crane _happened_ to find you where a high society lady should not have been."

Katniss doesn't reply. There isn't a reason to deny it.

"And I watched you, Katniss," she continues. "I spoke with you. I spent time with you, and you were not someone who would try to fuck her husband in a room that she knew belonged to General Snow. It may have fooled Crane, and it may have fooled others, but it didn't fool me."

She stares, haughty, cold, triumphant, at Katniss, and Katniss holds her stare. "If you were so certain," Katniss asks, "why did you not tell General Crane? Why did you not reveal us to him?"

"Because," Clove says, "how would that have benefited me?"

Katniss is startled silent.

Clove smiles. "I said I was not a fool, Katniss, and I meant it. I do not care for war. It is for men, a stupid, childish endeavor. They fire their muskets as they shout about honor and glory and courage." She sneers. "They are children with toys. They do not possess honor, or glory, or courage."

"And what does that have to do with me?" Katniss asks.

"I have already lost three brothers to this war," Clove says, and her voice is hard. "I do not intend to lose my husband, too. I do not care who wins this infernal war. I care only that my husband survives it. And if that means I must befriend a Union spy, so be it. I will befriend a Union spy."

It's quiet for a moment.

"I cannot help you," Katniss tells her at last. "No one would listen if I tried to say that I was a spy, or that Peeta was a spy. I have no proof. The man to whom I answered is dead, and I do not know how to find the man that recruited Peeta. We are spies for the Union, yet I cannot prove it _to_ the Union."

Clove seems to assess Katniss for a moment. "If this is so, what can you do in Maryland?"

"I don't know," Katniss says, and she tries not to let her desperation show. "Something."

"I see." Again, it's quiet, and Katniss moves to her feet. But Clove is on her feet as well, and she walks past Katniss to her bureau. She reveals a hidden drawer and pulls a small, threaded purse from it. She holds the purse out to Katniss. "Here. This will be enough."

Katniss frowns, and she doesn't reach out to accept it. "I don't know what you mean."

"All men can be bought," Clove says. "Their honor only extends so far, and this is more than a Yankee soldier could earn in a lifetime. Take it to Point Lookout, and barter for our husbands."

Katniss starts to shake her head. Clove wants her to bribe the Union soldiers stationed at Point Lookout for Peeta and Cato. "I cannot do that," she says. She wouldn't even know where to start.

"I don't think you have a choice, Katniss. What else can you do?"

Katniss stares at her. "How do you know I would free Cato, too?" she asks, biting her lip.

Clove smiles. "I said that men are without any real honor. But you are not a man, are you?" She holds out the purse. "It's gold," she coaxes. "It isn't paper money. It possesses real value. Any soldier will accept it. Take it. It will free your husband, and you will repay me the debt when you free mine as well."

It is stupid, and it is dangerous, but Katniss takes the purse. It is something, at least. A plan.

Clove returns to her seat, and they have nothing left to say to each other. Katniss leaves the tray, and she starts for the door. She needs to pack food for herself, and she needs to find a map, to be certain she knows how to reach Point Lookout, but that will not be difficult. She can use some of the money to buy herself passage on a steamboat if need be. She can be in Maryland in a week.

"For what it's worth," Clove says, "I do like you, Katniss Mellark."

Katniss pauses, hand on the doorknob, and looks at Clove.

But Clove has already turned back to the window, and Katniss leaves.

The soldier is picking at a hole in his jacket, and he smiles at her when she comes out. She returns it, the purse hidden in her skirts, and hurries to the kitchens, but she waits until later that night to see its contents. Her eyes widen at the sight.

Clove didn't exaggerate. It holds not only gold coins but also gold jewelry, and Katniss can easily imagine how it might tempt a soldier. If she is smart, she might be able to do this. She might be able to purchase freedom for Peeta and for Cato. And she will have to free Cato, too.

She _cannot_ owe a debt to Clove Ableman.

She corners Haymitch two days later, and she asks if he can find a map for her.

He wants a reason, and she has no choice. She tells him. He laughs. "A brilliant plan," he mocks, chortling to himself as he lumbers off. The next morning, however, he hands her a map, and he tells her that she _will_ need to find passage on a steamboat. "Good luck, sweetheart."

She thanks him. She'll need it.

She leaves the Capitol after breakfast the very next day. It's cool out, winter on the horizon, and nobody pays any mind to the woman who walks down the street with a small pack. The soldiers are too busy with drills, and Katniss keeps her head bowed. She will have to walk for almost two days before she reaches the Chesapeake Bay, and the boat to Point Lookout will take another two days.

But the sooner she leaves, the sooner she can arrive.

A few soldiers stop her at the edge of town, and she says she carries food for those working to bury the bodies on the battlefield. She shows them the food in her pack, and they nod.

She wouldn't step foot near the fields that still hold the dead from a battle two weeks past, but the excuse is perfect. As the city dwindles away behind her, she remembers the last time she walked like this, afraid to be noticed, Rue at her side, and she misses her small companion more than ever.

But she must believe Rue is safe wherever she is, and she would not wish upon Rue the danger of being with Katniss at this moment.

She is not stupid enough to walk along the road, so she stays in the forest. She walks along the edge, able to follow the road yet concealed. Her worry seems to stave off any hunger, and she doesn't stop until the sun starts to set. She climbs an old oak, the branches steady beneath her feet, and she is confident that she will be safe for a night. She tries not to drink all the water in her canteen; she isn't sure when she will next have the chance to refill it.

She is almost asleep she hears someone. She tenses, and her eyes search beneath her for the culprit.

It is not completely dark yet; the sky is a pretty, royal blue, and Katniss easily catches sight of the bright hair. He wears a Confederate Uniform, his hat askew on his head, and he whistles as he walks, clearly unafraid. And, to her horror, he sits at a yew tree only feet from where she is hidden, and he looks as if he intends to set up camp. He is foolish to be so loud, and she wants to curse him when he lights a small fire. The Union will descend on him within an hour, and Katniss will be caught, too.

He leans against the Yew, and his whistle turns to words.

He starts to _sing_ the insipid song, and Katniss wants to strangle him.

She doesn't realize at first. It isn't as if she hasn't ever heard Yankee Doodle. She could sing it in her sleep; Lieutenant Snyder used to bellow the song endlessly as he patrolled around the Capitol.

But the soldier repeats the chorus, and she hears the words. "_Yankee Doodle does as well, / As anybody can, sir, / And like the ladies, he's for Abe, / And Union to a man, sir_!" Her heart stops. Those aren't the lyrics that Lieutenant Snyder sang, because those aren't the Confederate lyrics.

Those are the Union lyrics to Yankee Doodle.

How does a Confederate soldier know the lyrics to the Union song? And why is he _singing_ them?

He isn't a Confederate soldier.

She waits, still and silent, until he starts to nod off. It takes almost an hour, but the fire dwindles, his eyes close, and she moves as quietly as she can. Her feet touch the earth without a sound. His rifle is over his lap, but his hands are loose. She takes a few soft, silent steps, and she steals it.

He awakes with a start, but it is too late; his rifle is already pointed at his heart.

"Are you a spy for the Union?" she demands.

His eyes are wide, but he shakes his head. "No, ma'am," he says. "I am a Texan, and I would not betray my countrymen."

His voice is calm, as if he isn't truly afraid, and she doesn't like that.

She keeps her face blank. "I've never heard a Confederate sing a rousing chorus like that."

He smiles, dimples in his cheeks. "I'm afraid I can't shake the lyrics," he says. "The prisoners at a war camp where I was stationed used to sing it through the night. I didn't mean to offend, ma'am."

"I'm sure," she spits. "Regardless, I'll need you to empty your pockets." She will not be fooled.

He must be a Union spy. She _needs_ him to be a Union spy. She jabs him with the rifle.

"Are you sure you know how to handle a rifle like that, little lady?" he asks.

Her jaw locks. "Empty. Your. Pockets."

He starts to chuckle. As quick as a dart, she hits him across the face with the rifle. He doesn't have time to do more than curse before she returns the rifle to his chest, pointed straight at his heart, as if she never moved it. His nose is cut, and his cheek starts to swell. It will be a nasty bruise. "I won't repeat myself again," she hisses.

His eyes are dark as he pulls a tin from his pocket. "That's it," he says, and he shows her the pocket linings as proof. She demands he show her his trouser pockets as well, but those are empty.

She doesn't take her eyes off his. "Open the tin."

"It's chew."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

He pops open the tin, and she tries not to smile.

"It's chew," he says, "like I told you."

But she isn't a fool. The chew rests on something white, and tins aren't white. She holds out her hand. "I'll take it." He stares at her, and she flexes her fingers. "I want that tin, soldier," she snaps.

"And what do you intend to do with it, darling?" he asks. "What do you intend to do with _me_? Are you about to march me to a Confederate camp to see me hanged? Is that it?" He smiles, and he clucks his tongue at her, as if she were a silly child. "I don't want to hurt you. If you hand me my rifle, we can forgive and forget, and we'll each go our separate ways. How's that?"

"I don't think so," she says. "This isn't about you, and it isn't about me. I'm not about to take you to the Confederates." She hesitates. Maybe she shouldn't reveal it, but she can't swallow any more complicated lies. "My husband is captured," she tells him, "and I can't prove that he is a Union spy, not as long as I don't have any information that the Union wants. I need that tin. I need whatever information you have, and I'm not afraid to kill you for it."

She doesn't know how she expects him to react, but she is still shocked at his response.

He starts to laugh, delighted. "But if your husband is a Union spy, we're on the same side! And we're in the same position," he tells her eagerly. "My friend is in Point Lookout, and I need to prove that she isn't a Confederate. She is a Union spy, as am I. Are you on your way to Point Lookout? Is that where your husband is?"

"I won't be tricked," she breathes.

"I don't want to trick you," he says. "We can help each other, and I can prove it. I'll bet if your husband is a Union spy from within the Confederacy, he works for Plutarch Heavensbee, doesn't he?" He raises his eyebrows, triumphant. "He does. I can see it on your face. I wouldn't know that if I didn't work for Heavensbee, too. But the turncoat doesn't care so much for his spies when they're compromised. He hasn't tried to help my friend, and he won't try to help your husband. It's up to us. What do you say?"

He _is_ a Union spy. She believes that. The question is whether or not he believes that Peeta is a Union spy. If he doesn't, this is all a trick to unarm her. If he does, he can help her rescue Peeta.

"What's your name?" he asks. "I might know your husband."

She keeps the rifle pointed at his chest. She won't let him overpower her. "Mellark."

The soldier is thrilled. "And your husband is _Peeta_ Mellark!" he exclaims. "I've met him, Mrs. Mellark! We were on the same train to meet Heavensbee when the war started. He writes editorials with the information that Heavensbee wants, doesn't he?" He laughs, and Katniss can't believe it.

She is speechless, and she steps away from him, but he doesn't try to steal the rifle. He doesn't try to attack her. He runs a hand through his hair, thrilled with himself, as he continues to beam at her. "We can help each other, Mrs. Mellark," he says.

She still doesn't know whether to trust him. "Who are you?" she asks, trying to compose herself.

"I'm Captain Odair, ma'am," he says, grinning. "Captain Finnick Odair."

**tbc.**

a/n: Okay, I didn't actually write the battle. I really wanted to, and I ever wrote a few pages of it, but it didn't seem to work within the rest of the story. I'm sorry you waited so long for an "intense" chapter that wasn't very intense. I really will try to hurry with the next chapter, though, I promise!


	9. Chapter 9

The steamboat captain, "call me Harry, Peaches," is sympathetic to the Confederates.

He is a dodgy old man, his beard yellow, his skin so weathered that his eyes are almost hidden in the lines of his face, and Katniss suspects his dilapidated boat is as old as he is. But he helps find civilian clothes for Finnick, and he takes them across enemy lines. They owe him dearly for that.

He tells Katniss that his boat and his trade are left alone, mostly, because he isn't a young fellow anymore. "But, let me tell you, if our Mr. Lee needed me to shoot the guts out of some Yanks, I'd do it. Sure would. Hand to the Bible." He smiles, teeth neat and brown, and she tries to smile, too.

She isn't sure she can trust him. She isn't sure she can trust anyone, not even Captain Odair.

He acts as if they're the best of friends, but Katniss isn't interested in his friendship, not when so much is at stake, not when he smiles so easily, is so charming, _too_ charming; she won't be taken in.

He asks her whether or not she knows how to smile, and he laughs when she scowls.

How has he managed to survive this long when he takes _nothing_ seriously?

It isn't a long trip; they travel through the night and into the next day, and the captain says they'll arrive at Point Lookout late in the afternoon. But it isn't the travel that will prove the most difficult.

Finnick possesses marked maps he stole from a Confederate camp, and Katniss hopes those will be enough. It could be simple. Finnick acts like will be. He outlines the plan as though everything were as easy as to say it. Finnick will pretend to work on the boat, Katniss will pretend to be his wife, and they'll use unloading cargo for the hospital as a reason to be docked for a couple nights.

It helps that Point Lookout is a hospital and a prison; it's a reason for civilians to be there.

As inconspicuously as they can, they'll approach the prison camp itself. "We need to do it at dusk," Finnick tells her. "The fewest soldiers will be on patrol, so we can find someone alone. We tell him we want to free Union spies. Show him the maps. And if he doesn't believe us, we can bribe him."

It could be simple. She repeats that to herself, wants to believe it.

The trip over the water isn't long, but she has nothing to distract her from what's to come, from what they're about to try to do, and the time passes slowly. She sits close to the edge of the boat and stares out at the water. Tries not to worry. It's windy, autumn fading into winter, already cold.

"So, Mrs. Mellark," Finnick starts, coming to sit beside her and nudging her knee with his, "how long have you been married?" He can't seem to sit still, choosing to wander around the boat as the day slowly passes, but he finds a reason to bother Katniss for at least a couple minutes every hour.

"Not long," Katniss hedges. She looks at her ring. His ring. She runs her thumb over the band.

"I'm married myself," Finnick tells her, pulling a picture from his sock before she asks.

The photo is weathered, a corner crinkled badly, an edge stained, curling, but Katniss doesn't miss the care with which Finnick presents it. "This is my Annie," he says. "Prettiest girl in Texas." And his wife _is_ pretty, with a head of thick, dark hair, a round, plump face, and a pretty, pleasant smile.

"She looks lovely," Katniss murmurs.

She doesn't have a picture of Peeta. As years pass, she could forget what he looks like.

No, that's impossible. She won't forget. Yellow curls. Bright eyes. Sweet smile.

And it doesn't matter. She'll see him soon, after all.

She rubs her ring.

"I have a son, too," Finnick says, tucking his photo safely into his sock. "Dorian." His chest puffs out a little, proud, and Katniss is almost tempted to smile. "Annie says he looks like me," Finnick continues. "Lovely flaming locks. Pretty smile." He winks at her. "I, um, I haven't met him yet, 'cause he wasn't born 'til after the war started, but any son of mine is bound to be brilliant, isn't he?"

"I'm sure," Katniss replies, and he chuckles.

She can see the shape of land ahead. That's it, isn't it? Point Lookout. Her heart skips a beat.

"There it is," Finnick says, following her gaze, voicing her thoughts. "Another two days, and I reckon I'll have to separate you and your husband with a stick so that I can catch a decent sleep."

She chooses not to respond to that.

But he is so confident, and she wants to be confident, too. She wants to believe they can do it.

Harry calls out to them. "I'll dock as close to the prisons as I can," he says, and Katniss manages an actual smile for him, because she can't imagine how they would've done this without him. He is under the impression that they're honest Confederates, and he is willing not only to transport them but also to provide their alibi. He readily agreed to allow their rescued friends onto the boat, too.

No one pays them any attention as the steamboat docks.

It smells overwhelmingly like fish, and Katniss almost snorts at her own stupid observation. The air is thick and heavy and wet, pressing against her, making sweat bead on her forehead. Her first few steps on solid land are shaky. She hasn't ever travelled on a boat before. Finnick laughs at her.

He helps Harry haul his cargo off the boat, and Katniss tries not to call any attention to herself as she stands beside the boat. She can see the high walls of the prison camp, and she is tempted to head straight for them, to find Peeta, to help him escape right at that very instant. It is almost painful that she cannot, that she has to wait, that he is so wonderfully close yet so frustratingly far.

The wind turns colder, and dusk starts to creep over the jut of land.

Harry heads towards the small tavern tucked between the hospital and the prison camp, and Finnick takes a deep breath, his eyes on the prison camp walls. "Are you ready?" he asks, quiet.

She nods.

They have to walk a little, and Katniss starts to smell the camp, the salty air not enough to filter out the filth. She watches a solider walk atop the wall, at least a dozen feet high; he is shadowed, but she can easily make out his pigsticker. She is suddenly beyond grateful to have Finnick beside her.

A colored solider emerges from the woods, his rifle tucked under his ear as he mutters to himself and starts towards the wall. Finnick moves forward, almost shielding Katniss. The soldier sees them, slows to a stop, and starts to frown. "What's your business 'round here?" he asks, wary, his eyes flickering between Finnick and Katniss. "Most folks throw food from the other side, you know."

"We're not most folks," Finnick replies. "We were hoping to talk to a fine fellow like yourself."

The soldier doesn't even let Finnick start to pull out the maps.

"How much money you got?" he asks. And he offers an unpleasant smile. "Don't look so startled, Secesh. It's not like you're the first to try to bribe a soldier to make sure your favorite old boy is treated a little better than the rest of 'em." He spits out his chew. "So. How much money you got?"

"We have enough," Katniss says.

"No need to be in a huff with me, sweetheart," the soldier replies, far too smug. Katniss bristles. She hates when men think themselves charming because they toss stupid endearments at women.

"We didn't come to see that our friends were treated a little better," Finnick says, voice hard. "We came to see them released. They were spies for the Union, loyal to Grant, and we've come with information that proves it." He reaches into his pocket for the maps. "They don't deserve to be —"

"Hang it," the soldier says, holding up his hand. "Not interested. I'm not about to be sucked into whatever story you have to tell. Find someone else for that humbug." He pauses. "Or, a'course, you can tell me how much money you got, and maybe I could help you all out. How's about that?"

Katniss pulls out the purse and shows him the coins. "There."

He whistles. "Shit." His eyes fly to her face. "How'd you end up with all that?"

"My husband is in the camp," Katniss says, "and he is innocent, as is his friend."

"As is my friend," Finnick adds.

"We have money with us," she continues, "as you can see. Actual gold. Enough for three people."

"And that's as much as you need to know, soldier," Finnick says.

The soldier looks back and forth between them. "Three people? I don't think you got _that_ much. And before you're fit to be tied with me, let me remind you that we aren't talking about selling fish. It risks my neck to turn the other way when a prisoner walks out and doesn't come back, and you want me to do it for three prisoners? I don't think so, 'less that pretty purse doesn't have a bottom."

"So how much for each person?" Finnick asks. "Name a price, and we'll see how much the pretty purse holds." It's a challenge, and the soldier eyes the purse; Katniss can see him try to gauge how much it holds. "Or," Finnick says, "you can agree to let all three of ours walk, and we can agree to let you have the whole purse. Simple." He flicks a gold coin at the solider. "Go on. Take a bite."

The soldier does. "It's gold, alright." He licks his lips. Hesitates. "Who are they? Your three?"

Her heart starts to thud against her chest. This isn't a ruse, is it? The soldier isn't about to report them somehow to someone who could hurt Peeta should they reveal his name. No. It isn't a ruse.

"Her husband is an officer," Finnick says, "as is his friend."

The soldier nods. "Makes it a little easier. And your friend? He isn't an officer, too, is he?"

"She isn't, no," Finnick says. "Her name is —"

But the soldier shakes his head. "No. The women are under lock and key. Nothing I can do."

"There must be someone who _can_ do something," Katniss snaps. She looks at Finnick. "Maybe we picked an incompetent one." She pulls the purse strings closed. "Let's talk to someone else."

"Hey, don't be hasty," the soldier says. "I can still get your boys out. Give me their names, and I'll suss it out. Nobody'll be able to do anything for the girl. They watch the girls too close. Trust me."

Katniss wouldn't trust him with a nickel.

But — "Fine," Finnick agrees. "Peeta Mellark and Cato Ableman."

The soldier nods. "I'll see what I can find out about them. Meet me here tomorrow night."

"Why not tonight?" Katniss asks, frowning. Harry wants to leave at first light.

"Again," the soldier says, disdainful, "this isn't selling fish, sweetheart. Takes time. Effort."

She tucks the purse into her skirts. "Fine. Tomorrow. We'll be here." He stalks off, glancing back at them before he disappears around the wall, and Katniss looks at Finnick. "Why did you agree?"

He sighs, running a hand over his hair. "Because he is probably right," he says. "I suspected as much when we came. It makes sense that they'd watch the women closer. I'll have to talk to someone higher up about her, someone who will want to see the maps. But we can't ignore the chance to help your husband and his friend escape. After he is safe, I'll worry about Johanna."

She nods, but she can't help her guilt. Finnick is more than ready to worry about her husband before his friend, to help her before he helps himself. She can't say she would've done the same.

She asks about his friend when they reach the boat. "How do you know her? Johanna?" It isn't his wife, she knows that, and it isn't a lover; it can't be, not when he adores his wife the way he does.

"Met her in the war," he says. "She's a mean little woman, but she's a loyal friend." He smiles.

He is quieter, apparently not as eager to fill the silence with chatter now. She understands that.

They tell Harry they need to spend another night, and he hesitantly agrees.

The night on the boat isn't pleasant; Katniss doesn't eat that night, too sick from the sea swells, and she can't sleep for more than a few minutes before nightmarish thoughts point her eyes to the walls of the prison. As soon as the sun rises, Finnick heads off to try to find some way to help Johanna.

Katniss tries to talk to Harry, who isn't happy to be at Point Lookout for another day.

"I don't usually stay more than one night," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Two at most."

And it looks like they might need him to stay even more than two.

She tries to smile, to ask him questions, to keep him entertained, and she tells him stories about Peeta, about how much he believes in the Confederacy, until, as they eat supper on the dock, he tells her that he can surely find excuses to let them stay as long as they need to rescue her husband.

Finnick returns with no word on Johanna.

No one is interested in his maps, because no one trusts his maps, because no one trusts _him_.

They shouldn't really be surprised, to be honest.

Katniss doesn't know what to say, and dusk falls. They start for the prison walls, and their soldier is already waiting for them. But his shoulders are slumped, his forehead creased, his eyes downcast, and Katniss feels her stomach clench. "Something's wrong," she murmurs. They reach the soldier.

"Look," he starts, voice low "about your boys — " And he stops, scuffs his boot, scratches his nose. He looks at Katniss, and she doesn't want to hear it. "I'm real sorry, but I can't get both —"

"No," Katniss interrupts, "you agreed. Every last gold coin in this purse for both men."

He can't change his mind. He can't.

"It's not that," he says. "It wouldn't be _too_ hard to sneak a fellow out from the camp, but it's a whole 'nother animal to sneak 'em out from the hospital. And, well, it looks one of your boys is peaked." He hesitates. "It's bad. Look, it's not my fault. I can't touch him when he's in the hospital."

"Is there someone who can?" Finnick asks, an edge to his voice.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but it won't work. Nobody would risk it, trust me. I can get the other fellow out, though, I promise." He pauses. "I won't ask for the whole purse —"

Katniss has to ask. "Which is it?"

He runs a hand over his hair. "The burly blonde fellow. Ableman."

She is almost ashamed at her relief. But, no, she shouldn't feel guilty. It's not as though Cato deserves to be rescued, and she will be able to tell Clove that she tried. "It's fine," she tells the soldier. "We'll pay what we promised you as long as you can help Mr. Mellark escape tonight."

But the solider frowns. "I think you misunderstood me, ma'am." His face is apologetic.

And she realizes how she could've misunderstood. Her stomach drops. No.

She doesn't want to hear it.

He says it. "It's Ableman that I can reach. The other one, Mellark, he's in the hospital."

Finnick places his hand on her shoulder. "There must be _some_ way to get him out," Finnick tells the soldier. "Just like there must be some way to help Miss Mason. We _won't_ leave without them."

The soldier sighs, shaking his head. "I can't help you, and I don't know who could. I'd tell you if I did. The best I can do is sneak out the one fellow. I can probably get my hands on the body after the other passes. Bring it out to you, so he doesn't end up in the dead house or the pit. How's that?"

Katniss stares, speechless, breathless, because she can't breathe, she can't. _Oh, God_.

"Is he really that sick?" Finnick asks.

The soldier shrugs, almost apologetic. "They don't put 'em in the hospital otherwise. I don't know what's got him, but it isn't nothing like quick step. The easy stuff like that don't warrant a sick bed."

No. It can't happen like this. They can't have come so terribly close only to fail. He can't die.

"Is he in the hospital with civilians," Finnick starts, "or do they keep prisoners somewhere else?"

Katniss starts to nod. They don't need this useless soldier to help them. They can find another way to free Johanna, and they'll find Peeta in the hospital, and take him somewhere safe, and Katniss can nurse him back to health. It wouldn't be the first time. Her determination starts to turn to steel.

But someone shouts, and the steel sinks to the pit of her stomach.

Another solider approaches, frowning, and their solider snaps his heels together and puffs his chest out. It isn't another soldier. It's an officer. A Yankee officer. And he doesn't look pleased.

"What's this about?" he asks, eyeing Finnick and Katniss before looking at the solider, who tries to say something, but the officer doesn't let him. "These look an awful lot like civilians, Johnson. I don't think the Union army pays you to chat with civilians when you're supposed to be on duty."

The soldier shakes his head. "No, sir, I was on my way to —"

"To accept bribes from civilians?" the officer interrupts, knowing and furious.

"N-no, sir —"

"I could have you two put behind those walls," the officer says, glaring at Finnick.

"I think there are already enough innocent Yankees behind those walls, sir," Finnick replies, somehow so impossibly calm, and he pulls out his maps. "That's why we're here, in fact." And he talks about Johanna and Peeta, about Boggs and Heavensbee, about the maps that prove his words.

The officer takes the maps, and his frown deepens as he tries to read with the moonlight.

He looks at Finnick, and his gaze flickers to Katniss for a moment.

"Am I supposed to believe you speak God's truth?" he asks.

"We're not liars," Katniss hisses.

The officer shakes his head, and he starts to fold the maps. "This is war," he says. "And war makes the worst out of the best sort of people. I have no reason to trust you, or to trust these maps. They could lead men into a slaughter, and they're not a reason to release Confederate prisoners."

"They're _for_ the Union," Katniss says, furious, "and my husband _risked his life_ to —"

"Spies have contacts," the officer cuts in. "Find his contact, and the contact can use the proper channels to see that your husband is released." He holds the maps out to Finnick. That's it. Katniss opens her mouth, furious, but Finnick touches her arm, silences her. The officer crosses his arms over his chest. "Alright, light out. Go on, 'for I change my mind. Go on." They're finished.

Finnick wraps his arm around Katniss and nearly drags her away from the Yankees.

No.

"Katniss, there's nothing we can do," he says. "We're lucky the officer let us walk away like that."

"And what are we supposed to do now?" Katniss exclaims.

Finnick holds out his hand, as though to silence her. They're in the woods, shadowed, humidity weighing on their shoulders, and she understands that he is right, that she should be quiet, that she should count herself lucky that the officer didn't do worse, but what are they supposed to do now?

"We can't bribe any soldier," she says, "not when Johanna is locked in a tower and Peeta is in the hospital, and _no one_ is interested in the maps, and Harry can't stay docked at Point Lookout for —"

Finnick rests his hands on his shoulders. "We'll think of something," he says.

"How can you be so calm?" she says. It's making her mad. "Peeta is _dying_ in some crappy prison hospital — _right now_ — behind those stupid walls that I can't cross, and you're so _fucking_ calm!"

She doesn't mean to scream obscenities at him, but she really thought they would be able to do it.

She really thought _she_ would be able to do it, to rescue Peeta. Instead, she failed him.

A week, and he'll be dead.

"Johanna might not be my wife," Finnick says, "but I still love her as though she were my sister, and I'm worried about her, and I don't know what we'll do. But we can't risk shouting at each other ten feet from the prison camp. We can't, Katniss." His eyes search her face, and she nods. "We need to talk to Plutarch. I tried to contact him, sent messages, but it wasn't enough. We need to find him, and we need to talk to him. Face to face. Demand that he does something for his own spies."

Katniss nods. Okay. A plan.

"I'm not trying to act like all is hunkey dorey," Finnick adds, "but we can't lose our heads."

"We'll leave Point Lookout as soon as we can tomorrow," she says, "and we'll find Plutarch."

"That's right," Finnick says. They start to move through the woods towards the docks.

"Do you — do you have any idea where to start?" she asks. "Where he might be?"

He nods. "I have a few ideas." He pauses. "We'll find him, and we'll get your husband out."

She stares at him. "He isn't my husband." She rubs the underside of the ring with her thumb.

"What?"

"Peeta," she says. "He isn't my husband. He wanted to be."

Finnick doesn't say anything, but she can feel his eyes on her face. "But he never asked before the war started. And, to be honest, I wouldn't have said yes if he had. I always thought I would make a terrible wife. I _would_ make a terrible wife, I know it_._ I don't know why he wanted to marry me."

"He must really love you," Finnick says, voice soft.

"Yes," she whispers. She clears her throat. "I don't know why."

"Why do you love him?" he asks. She stares, startled. "Or, I mean, _do_ you love him?"

She nods, hesitant. "Yes. I do." Her smile is humorless. "I must."

His eyes are heavy on her. "Why do you?" he asks.

"Because — _because_," she says.

And Finnick smiles. "Yeah, I think that's usually how it works." His eyes are soft. "Come on."

The rest of the walk to the docks is quiet; Finnick doesn't ask anything about whatever relationship does exist between Peeta and Katniss, and they tell Harry that they don't need to stay another night.

She doesn't really sleep that night, or at least not any better than the previous night.

The steamboat leaves Point Lookout as the sun rises, thick, humid fog circling their waists.

She stares at the prison walls as they grow smaller, and she can't manage to eat the bread that Finnick offers her. She feels as though she has sentenced Peeta to die. He wouldn't leave her, but she can't even see the prison walls anymore, and he might never know that she tried to help him.

He might die today. He could be dead right at that moment.

"Don't torture yourself," Finnick murmurs.

"And what if Annie were behind those walls," Katniss snaps, "dying in a prison hospital?"

He doesn't bother her about it after that.

They return to Virginia, and Harry claps Finnick on the shoulder and kisses Katniss on the hand.

Finnick says Johanna was captured when General Sherman led the Union into Atlanta, and Heavensbee evacuated with the Confederates under General Hood, which means he would likely be in Tennessee. "I have friends we can talk to," he says, and Katniss trusts him. They travel as cheaply as they can, even with the gold, and they try not to draw any attention to themselves. It isn't hard as hard as she would've thought, and Finnick charms anyone who eyes them with suspicion.

They cross into Tennessee.

And, to her frustration, Finnick can hide his Texan accent rather easily when he wants, but she can't hide her Virginia accent no matter how hard she tries, which means, more often that not, she bites her tongue while Finnick pretends to be from the North and makes friends with Yankees.

This is his life, Katniss realizes. This is how Finnick fights for the North.

He slips easily over enemy lines, talks with Rebels, laughs with Yankees, wheedles information from stupid infantrymen, charms details from drunk officers, and never lets his pretty smile slip.

They can't find Heavensbee, though. No one knows where he is. Most don't even know _who_ he is.

And the days pass into a week that starts to become two weeks.

"I think we should return to Virginia," Finnick says. "Heavensbee isn't in Tennessee. He must —"

She shakes her head. "Don't pretend you have any idea where he is, Finnick."

He sighs. "I'm doing the best that I can," he says. "I'm _trying_ to help you, but don't forget that my friend is in that awful prison camp, too. And she might not be my wife, but she is my _best_ friend."

She wants to tell him that he doesn't understand, because he _doesn't_. His wife is safe. She can't say the same about anyone that she knows. She hasn't any idea whether Rue reached Pennsylvania, or whether her body was left to rot somewhere along the road. Her sister could be dead, too, peppered with bullets alongside Gale, determined to kill himself as he fought against the local Unionists.

And Peeta could be dead, too, dead in that prison camp.

It could be like the soldier said. His body could be thrown in the dead house, or the pit.

Her throat closes when she thinks about it, _the pit_. But what can she do about it?

Finnick might love his friend, but he doesn't understand how lucky he is to be able to say that his wife is safe. He doesn't have the faintest idea, she thinks, and she almost hates him because of it.

There isn't any reason to say any of that, though. He is, after all, her only ally left.

"Fine," she says. "Let's return to Virginia."

Her nightmares are the worse they've ever been that night.

Finnick tries to wake her, and she thinks he is Peeta for a moment.

She clutches his arm, breathing harshly, ready to tell him what she dreamt, how she thought he was imprisoned, thought he was dead. And she looks for sweet blue eyes and soft blonde hair, and she finds apologetic green eyes and bright red hair; the disappointment makes her heart curl in on itself.

"I need —" She stops, takes a deep breath. "I need some air."

Finnick frowns a little, but he nods, and he doesn't say anything as she shoves her feet into her boots and pulls on her coat. It's the middle of the night, and the inn is silent. She slips out through the kitchen, though, because she can't bear to deal with anyone who might still be awake at the bar.

It's cold out.

She doesn't care. She moves to the bench that sits against the inn, and she stares into the sparse, dark backyard that stretches into foreboding woods. The moon is bright enough to hide the stars.

"Reckon it'll snow tonight, eh?"

Her head snaps to the voice, and she eyes the man, suspicious. He wears a Confederate uniform, his coat unbuttoned, his shirt stained and unkempt. He is a thin, wiry man, balding, two different boots on his feet. His eyes are on the woods as he leans against the inn. She suspects he is drunk.

She nods, curt. "Maybe."

"Nah, I can tell," he says. "I can smell it." He taps his nose, and he smiles at her. She looks at her lap. She isn't interested in small talk. But, a moment later, he sits beside her on the bench. "What's your name, darling?" he asks. He smells like whiskey, and she doesn't have the patience for this.

"It's Abigail Wesson," she says, "_Mrs._ Abigail Wesson." She stands. "Excuse me."

She doesn't want to return to her small, hot room, to a bed that holds only nightmares, to an uncomfortable Finnick, but she isn't about to sit outside with this drunken dope. As she passes him, though, he clutches her arm. "Aw, come on," he says, "keep me company, Mrs. Abigail Wesson."

Her reaction is immediate; she doesn't even think about it.

She tears her arm from his grasp and the heel of her hand slams into his nose. The back of his head hits the wall, and she reaches for the door, fuming, but his hands are suddenly on her waist, pulling her back, as he curses at her, "you little twat," and she twists, tries to shove him, starts to panic.

It all happens quickly.

She can hear Prim scream in her ears, but her pounding heart overpowers the sound, and —

He pushes her against the wall, smacks her across the face, and covers her mouth with his hand. But she bites his hand, making him howl, and her fingers dig into his side, searching. He is too heavy to shove away. He keeps her pinned against the wall, breath hot against her neck, but her fingers curl around the hilt, and she tries to turn her wrist. He realizes what she is about to do, though, and his hand covers her as his curses become fouler and fouler, and they start to struggle over it.

Her finger finds the trigger, and she pulls it. The revolver fires straight into his gut.

He stares, stunned, and she shoves him with all his might. He stumbles away from her.

And he lunges forward a moment later, but she spins from his grasp, and he falls to his knees.

She waits for someone to run from the inn, someone who saw the struggle, someone who heard everything. But no one comes, and she watches the blood bubble on his lips as he dies. He is dead.

She killed him.

She sinks against the wall. He's dead.

Her hands won't stop shaking, so she sits on them. The yard is quiet, and she watches his blood seep into the mud. It looks black against the grass. Her stomach churns. She needs to bury the solider, or at the very least to run. She can't be found beside him. She forces herself to her stand.

How much blood is on her?

He looks a little like Peeta, she thinks, blonde hair, round face, _so much blood_. No, he doesn't look like Peeta, not really, not at all, but he is dead, and she did it. She killed him. She retches until her throat burns. And she hooks her hands under his arms and starts to drag him towards the woods.

She stumbles, and she looks up, and she swears she can see Rue for a moment, sweat on her brow, face shadowed, helping Katniss hide the soldier that she murdered. She blinks, grits her teeth, and pulls the soldier past the line of trees, further and further, until her strength starts to fail. She can barely see, the moon unable to penetrate the trees, and she can't find the will to try to bury the body.

She almost expects someone to stop her, to call her a murderer, to catch her.

But the street is still so terribly quiet, so empty, as she walks towards the inn.

She twists her ankle under her when she trips over nothing, but she doesn't fall. A moment later, her eyes catch on something that glints in the moonlight. A canteen. It's dented, and stained with blood, and it must've belonged to her solider, must've slipped from his coat as she dragged him to the woods. She should hide it. It rattles in her trembling hands. She frowns. Why does it rattle?

Her breath catches. He was a Confederate soldier, wasn't he?

She uncorks the canteen, and something is definitely inside the canteen. Hidden. She overturns the canteen, tries to coax out whatever it is. And, after a few desperate moments, she succeeds. It's a cigar. That's it. The soldier wanted to hide his cigar. It isn't high quality, the paper loosely wrapped.

She needs to hide the canteen and the cigar, and she'll throw them out when they've left the inn.

She starts to shove the cigar into the canteen, but the paper tears, and she stills.

Her father used to smoke cigars, and his were never wrapped so poorly, cheap as they were.

She drops the canteen, and she fumbles with the cigar. She is crazy, she thinks. Desperate. But she starts to unwrap the cigar, and brown paper falls from he fingers to reveal white paper underneath.

She tears the white paper away from the rest as carefully as she can, and she unfolds it, and —

It's covered in neat, dark script. Her heart stops. It's a letter.

She strains to read what it says. It's dated October fourteenth, written to _General_, talks about _your last letter _and _an opening behind Cedar Creek_ and _Sheridan is overconfident_, signed _J. A. Early, _and she can't hear anything over her own pounding heart. It's a letter from Jubal Anderson Early.

It's a letter from the Confederate general who fought at the third battle for Winchester.

And it's about his next battle.

This is it. This is what they need.

She sprints into the inn, up the stairs, to their room. "Finnick," she pants, "I've got it."

He stares, his mouth hanging open. "What happened?" His eyes trail over her.

She must look a sight, covered in blood, sick, and mud, in terror and excitement, waving a ruined cigar and a slip of paper at him. She tries to explain herself, and her story comes out jumbled, but she manages to tell it, and he takes the letter from her. She lights the table candle, and he reads the letter aloud, his voice thick with shock. "Good sweet Lord," he whispers, "this is what we need."

She nods. "General Sheridan," she says. "We find him, and we show him this letter, and —"

"And we'll save his hide," Finnick whispers, "proving that we're spies, and he'll see that Johanna and Peeta and Cato are released." He starts to laugh. "Yes, Katniss, yes!" He clasps her face in his hands for a moment, and he picks her up a moment later, spins her around, and she laughs, too.

This is what they need.

And she thinks she might be mad, might be absolutely _crazy_, because she murdered a man only minutes ago, and his blood stains her hands, but she finds herself crying from excitement. She hasn't slept or eaten properly in weeks. She is a lunatic, a complete, utter lunatic. She doesn't care.

They don't sleep for the rest of the night. They decide to return to Winchester.

It's surely where the Union is camped out to take the valley, which means Sheridan is likely there.

They have to return to the Capitol.

It's only three days travel, and they take a coach when they can, spending the gold without thought. They need to arrive as quickly as possible, else the letter will be rendered useless. Katniss doesn't think about it, or about what Clove will say when Katniss arrives without their husbands. She doesn't let herself think about the soldier she killed, about how many people are dead at her hands.

She thinks about what she'll say to Sheridan, how she'll convince him to see that Peeta is released.

It's snowing when they arrive in Winchester, the flakes fat and fluffy as they fall.

They melt when they hit the ground; winter hasn't arrived yet.

The soldiers who stop them outside the city are suspicious, but Katniss tells them that they are spies for the Union, and they have information for General Sheridan. She doesn't blink as they stare at her, and the tallest soldier nods. "The general arrived a few hours past," he tells Katniss.

They're allowed into city, and Katniss repeats his words to herself. The general arrived. He's there.

Sheridan is in Winchester.

The city is unchanged, and the Capitol looks as it always has, large and extravagant, five stories high, lined with imposing pillars. Katniss leads Finnick around to the kitchens, to the same, small hall where Madge first brought Katniss two years ago. It seems like a faded memory, that day.

"I think we should try to barter with him," Finnick says.

Katniss frowns. "Try to _barter_ with him?" she repeats.

"Look, handing over information hasn't worked yet," he says, "but we tell him what we have, and we agree to let him have the letter as long as he agrees to have Peeta, Johanna, and Cato released."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I don't think that's the way to win favor with a general."

"What do you suggest we do?" Finnick asks.

She leads him through the kitchens, and she ignores the curious looks. "Let me talk to him."

Mrs. Abernathy takes her by surprise. "Katniss!" she exclaims, and Katniss spins around to see her. She is thinner, her hair uncurled and tightly coiled atop her head, but she looks as kind as she always was. "I've been worried about you, my darling! No one knew what had happened to you!"

She grasps Katniss's hands, her eyes flicker to Finnick, and she opens her mouth.

But Katniss doesn't have time to talk, to listen, to explain. "I need to speak with General Sheridan."

"I — with — with General Sheridan?" she stutters. "Is something the matter, dear? Sheridan arrived earlier this evening, but I — I don't understand. Where have you been? What's happened?"

"Mrs. Abernathy, I _need_ to speak with him," Katniss says. "Where is he?"

"He is holed up in his room on the fifth landing, I believe," Mrs. Abernathy says. "But —"

Katniss moves past her towards the entrance hall.

"I'm terribly sorry, ma'am," Finnick says. "It's urgent business we're on. . . ." Katniss doesn't hear the rest. She isn't bothered by the Union soldiers that litter the entrance hall; soldiers, Confederate or Union, are as familiar a sight within in the Capital as marble floors and elaborate hanging rugs.

She climbs the stairs as quickly as she can, and no one tries to stop her, thank God.

But she reaches the fifth landing, and two soldiers are stationed at the top. "No further, ma'am."

"I need to speak with General Sheridan," she says. "It's important."

The older soldier shakes his head. "Sorry, ma'am. Only big bugs past this point."

She grits her teeth, fit to be tied. "I have information about Confederate plans for the valley."

The soldiers look at each other. "Tell us what it is," the older soldier says, "and we'll see that —"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I'll put the letter in his hand only. I _must_ speak with him."

The younger solider sighs, nods at the older solider, and turns on his heel to disappear down the hall. "He'll see about it," the older soldier tells her. He looks kind, wearing spectacles, his thin brown hair combed over a bald patch. She nods, impatient, and Finnick comes to stand beside her.

The soldier returns. "The general's in a meeting," he says. "I'm afraid you can't —"

"I'm telling you that I have information about —" she starts to repeat, voice rising.

"I understand that," the soldier interrupts, "but lots of people have things to say to General Sheridan, and he can't talk with everybody at once. Have dinner, ma'am, get some sleep, and come talk to him tomorrow morning, eh?" He is trying to be kind, but Katniss is ready to strangle him.

"We understand," Finnick says. He touches her shoulder.

She jerks out from under his hand and starts down the stairs.

Finnick follows. "We've come this far," he tells her, "don't lose it when we've so little left to go."

She is forced to explain herself to Mrs. Abernathy. Mr. Abernathy appears in the kitchen half way through her fumbled explanation about how she heard that her second cousin Finnick was sick, and she went to Maryland to look after him, only to decide that they would be safer in Winchester.

"Cousin, is it?" Mr. Abernathy asks, looking at Finnick.

"More like a brother," Finnick replies, grinning and throwing his arm around her shoulders.

"My _second_ cousin," Katniss corrects.

Mrs. Abernathy chuckles. "And about what is it you needed to talk to General Sheridan, my dear?"

"It's nothing," Katniss dismisses.

And, to her surprise, Mrs. Abernathy doesn't push it. She tells Katniss about life around the Capitol since she left, how Unionists are always passing through, how busy she keeps helping with the wounded, how much she missed Katniss. A letter from Madge came, she tells Katniss.

But the news that _the Hawthornes are well_ and that _no one has heard from sweet Rory Hawthorne for several weeks, and his girl is beside herself with worry_ have strangely little effect on Katniss.

She should be overjoyed, because Gale is alive, and Prim is alive, and this means Madge is fine, too. But her home, her friends, her sister, the life she led years ago, it seems like a dream, like a life that was never really hers, that exists only in faded memories of stories someone else once told her.

And she misses her sister with a sharp, aching pain in her stomach, but maybe it isn't that she misses her sister. She misses the time when she was safe with her sister and with Rue, when she could fight with Gale daily, when she could believe Peeta was dead and not hurt for it, a time lost.

Mrs. Abernathy finds a room for Katniss, and she finds a room two doors down from it for Finnick.

"Sleep well, my dear," she says, touching Katniss lightly on the arm, her smile soft.

But Katniss can't sleep, even after she washes her face and undresses.

She pulls out the sketches that Peeta drew. They're a little crumpled, yellowed, but she smoothes them out on the small, bedside table and traces the penciled lines with the tip of her finger. She wonders how he learned to draw. She never asked him. He must've taught himself, she thinks. He seems like someone who would teach himself simply because he liked it. She hasn't any talents.

She can't draw, her fingers are terrible on piano keys, and she dances worse than drunkards.

She falls asleep in the small, plush chair beside the window. She awakes with a crick in her neck.

It's light outside, the sky clear and bright, a brilliant, pleasant blue. She wipes the sleep from her eyes and moves to her feet. How late is it? It must be at least seven or eight in the morning, it must.

She reaches into her pocket, suddenly terrified that she will have lost the letter.

But her fingers curl around the folded paper, and she lets out a shaky breath.

She doesn't bother to try to find Finnick. She hurries upstairs to the fifth floor.

It is two different soldiers on duty, and Katniss silently curses to herself. One smiles at her, his brown eyes bright, and she doesn't smile at him. "I need to speak with General Sheridan," she says, determined. "I was told to come to see him this morning, and I shan't leave without talking to him. I possess information about what General Early plans for the valley, urgent information."

She stares at them.

The smiling soldier, without a smile on his face, nods. "Follow me, ma'am," he says.

It's the same room where General Snow stayed. It's the room where Peeta saved her.

Another soldier is posted at the door. "I've a spy that needs to report to Sheridan." The guard nods and disappears into the suite. Katniss waits. He reappears a moment later and holds the door open for her. The room is much the same as she remembers, but the man behind the desk is a Yankee.

He rises to his feet as the solider closes the door behind her.

"I'm told you're a spy with information about the Confederate valley campaign," he says. He frowns, and he pulls on his mustache, rocking on his squat legs. "I feel as though I recognize you."

She nods, and she moves to stand in front of the desk. "We've met, sir. I was at the Capitol when you took Winchester, but I left shortly after. I'm a spy, as I said, and I have information for you, but there are a few things I need you to understand." She refuses to balk, to back down, to be deterred.

"I see," he says. "Well, go on." He sits.

"My husband is First Lieutenant Peeta Mellark," she starts, thankful her voice doesn't shake.

Sheridan nods, expression blank.

"He joined the Confederacy under orders from General Plutarch Heavensbee," she says, "who wanted him to spy for the Union. My husband risked his life to put information about Confederate plans in unsigned editorials that Heavensbee could read. I came to Winchester in 1863, and I started to spy for the Union, too. I reported to General Boggs, who was hidden in Winchester."

"I'm familiar with _rumors_ about Heavensbee," Sheridan says, mouth a thin line. "Go on."

"We are loyal to the Union, sir. We were nearly found out and killed more times than I can count, but we continued to spy for the Union. And when the Union arrived at Winchester, I prayed for you to win. I was ecstatic when you did, only to learn that my husband was taken as a prison-of-war, sent to rot in Point Lookout. And I couldn't find a way to contact Heavensbee, and Boggs was dead."

Sheridan leans back in his seat. "Thus you could not prove your husband was a spy," he says.

"No, sir," Katniss says, "I couldn't. And he is not the only spy to suffer because his work for the Union is secret. A woman, Miss Johanna Mason, spied for the Union, yet when she was captured, she could not prove that she was a spy, and Heavensbee couldn't be bothered to vouch for her."

Sheridan crosses his legs. "What is you would like me to do, Mrs. Mellark? Do you have —?"

"I am a spy for the Union, sir," she continues, "and I can prove it with this letter, found wrapped around a cigar that was hidden in a canteen I stole from a Confederate soldier." She pauses. "It's a letter from General Early to General Lee about plans for Cedar Creek. It's dated the fourteenth of October."

Sheridan straightens, eyes wide.

"My husband is not a Confederate," she says, "nor is Johanna Mason, nor is Mr. Cato Ableman."

She holds the letter out.

He stands as he accepts it, and she forces herself to take a deep, steadying breath as his eyes fly over the script. He looks at her. "I dismissed reports this morning about an attack at Cedar Creek."

Her throat is dry. Is this information useless? "I think that might've been a mistake, sir," she says.

He shoves his chair backwards, racing around his desk and towards the door.

It isn't useless, she realizes. It's just in time. Or maybe just too late. She panics. "General —"

"I don't know whether to believe you or not, Mrs. Mellark," he says, "but I'll see your husband released as thanks for this." And he is out the door. She stares after him, and she sinks into a seat.

Is that it?

He said he would do it. He would have Peeta released.

What about Johanna Mason? What about Cato?

And what if there is a battle and Sheridan dies? What if Peeta is already dead? Her heart lurches.

She needs to find Finnick, and she should probably try to talk with Clove, too. But what will she say to them if Sheridan sees to it that Peeta is not released but Joanna and Cato are left in the camp?

The guard outside the door has disappeared, and the soldiers at the stairs are gone, too. She returns to the second landing, and she knocks softly, a courtesy, before she opens the door. Finnick sits on the bed, buttoning his short. "I slept late," he says. "I was about to come find you. Are you ready?"

"I talked to him," she says. "I talked to Sheridan. I gave him the letter. He raced off with it, but he promised — he promised that he would have them released." She doesn't let herself flinch at the lie.

Finnick stares at her. "Really?" He starts to smile. "And you aren't having it out with me? _Really_?"

"Really, I swear it," she says, and his smile becomes laughter.

"Well, that beats the dutch!" he exclaims.

She smiles, too, but she isn't sure she trusts it, this turn of events, and she tells Finnick as much.

He isn't as concerned.

"We can't do anything more, though," he says. "Wait, tell me exactly what Sheridan said."

And she continues her fib as she explains the conversation, telling him everything else word for word. He nods and repeats that they can't do anything other than trust Sheridan to keep his word.

Finnick wants to eat breakfast, but Katniss needs to talk to Clove, and they part. As she starts upstairs, though, her curiosity starts to become too much. The Capitol is oddly empty, almost no soldiers to be found. She remembers the third battle for Winchester, and she corners Mr. Abernathy as he comes down the stairs. "What's happened?" she asks. "Has a battle started?"

"I should ask you," he replies. "Sheridan came storming down the stairs yelling about Cedar Creek, and I heard some talk about a spy with a letter from Early, too." He raises his eyebrows.

But she isn't about to share her every move with Haymitch Abernathy.

"Is Mrs. Ableman still kept on house arrest upstairs?" she asks.

He nods. "Yes, I'm afraid the cow is still upstairs."

"I should talk with her," she says, and she continues up the stairs. He doesn't try to stop her.

Clove doesn't look well. She is thinner, paler, clothes wrinkled, hair unwashed, and Katniss is afraid she might've suffered a miscarriage. Her eyes brighten for a moment when Katniss enters, but they're dull an instant later when Katniss reveals that Cato isn't with her. She explains everything that happened. "And you trust Sheridan to do as he says?" Clove snaps, face pinched.

"I don't really have many other avenues open to me, do I?" Katniss replies.

She can't seem to say anything that doesn't make Clove sneer, and she abandons the attempt after a few minutes. Clove doesn't need company to sulk, and Katniss doesn't need the guilt. Sheridan will have Peeta, Johanna, _and_ Cato released, she tells herself. And if he doesn't, she will help Finnick.

She will find a way to see that Johanna is released, too, and, well, Cato isn't her responsibility, because his money couldn't help him or her. She repeats it, and she refuses to feel guilt over it.

The battle lasts throughout the day, and they don't hear anything about it until nightfall.

But they won. The Union won. General Sheridan won. He is alive, and he has a debt to pay, doesn't he? He doesn't return to Winchester, though, not that night, or the next. A week passes, and he hasn't returned. They don't hear a word from him about Peeta, about anyone, about anything.

"There's nothing left to do," Katniss whispers. "He won't help us. And we have nothing else left."

Finnick shakes his head. "We can do what we intended," he says. "We can find Heavensbee."

"I would probably murder the bastard the moment I saw him," she says, voice low.

It's his fault. How can he let the people that fight for him rot in prison camps? How can he do that?

She agrees to leave for Richmond, where Mr. Abernathy grudgingly reveals he thinks Heavensbee might be. They'll take a coach as far as they can, much like when they came to Winchester, and they'll have to travel the rest on foot, as they'll have to cross enemy lines. She is almost tempted not to bother with it. What are the chances that Peeta is alive? He is dead, she thinks, rotting in the pit.

"Don't think like that," Finnick says. "You _can't _think like that."

She doesn't respond, but they make plans to leave at first light.

Mrs. Abernathy convinces them to eat dinner with her. "I feel as though you've only just returned," she exclaims, "and now you're about to leave me!" And Katniss has free reign around the Capitol, no one cares whether she calls herself a lady or a servant; it seems the Union has bigger fish to fry.

Finnick flirts with Mrs. Abernathy throughout dinner, and she pinks and giggles and swats him.

He is in the middle of a story about when he learned to swim as a four-year-old when a servant appears to talk to Mr. Abernathy, who is already close to drunk. The servant murmurs something to him, and he looks across the table at Katniss with a sudden, sharp stare. "What is it?" she asks.

And, for a moment, she imagines he is about to smile. She isn't sure whether or not to be alarmed.

"Sheridan kept his word, sweetheart," he says. "They've just arrived."

Her fork slips from her hand, splattering her mashed potatoes.

"What?" Finnick breathes, eyes wide, looking between Haymitch and Katniss.

Katniss is already on her feet, shoving her chair aside as she sprints for the entrance hall.

She sees a woman first, as thin as a skeleton, skin waxy, dark hair tightly coiled, something dark and fierce and angry settled in her eyes. But Katniss looks past her, and there he is. Just like that.

She finds herself unable to move for a moment, left only to stare at him. Peeta.

Her lungs fill with air.

His hair is thick and matted, unkempt, too long, and she hasn't ever seen him with a beard. He is too thin, his toes peek out of his boots, and his clothes are layers of muddy rags draped over him.

But his eyes are still so bright, and they land on her, and she breathes out. _Peeta_.

She starts towards him.

He looks worse the closer she is to him, but it doesn't matter; she will see that he is fed, and bathed, and put in proper clothes, and everything will be fine. He is here, alive, with her. She wants to cry, or to laugh, or to scream. She doesn't know. She doesn't understand what she feels. It's too much.

Her pace is quick, yet she slows as she comes closer, because something is off.

"How are you?" he asks, voice rough. He doesn't smile. That's it. That's what's off. She thought he would smile when he saw her. He always smiles when he sees her. Or he used to. It doesn't matter.

She smiles, and she reaches out, clasps his face. "I'm the best I've been in weeks," she breathes.

He nods. "Good." But he still doesn't smile, or move to touch her, and she starts to feel embarrassed. She slips her hands from his face, lets them linger on his shoulders, searches his face for some sort of explanation. "I was worried about you," he admits, and she recognizes him.

He's there, somewhere under the beard and the unsmiling lips and the unreadable eyes. Peeta. Sheepish. Sweet. Just the right touch of shy. Always more worried about her than about himself.

Alive, thank God. _Alive_.

She starts to shake her head, and she does laugh, or giggle, or make some strange noise; she doesn't care what comes out of her mouth. She surges forward to embrace him. He is startled, but his arms come around her, and his hands touch her hair, and she feels his face turn. He sniffs.

He's smelling her, and this must be what it's like to feel giddy, isn't it?

She clutches him closer, laughs or cries, laughs _and_ cries, whispers his name. Her Peeta.

"Did you — did you miss me, Katniss?" he asks, and she is startled, but he smiles at last, a small, sweet, shy smile, and he's teasing her, smiling and teasing her. She shakes her head, and he reaches out to wipe away her tears with his thumbs. "I missed you, too," he tells her. She kisses his palm.

Mrs. Abernathy wants to hug him, and Finnick wants to shake his hand. He introduces Johanna Mason to Katniss. And Cato is with them, she realizes, his eyes searching for Clove. She touches his arm. "She's upstairs," she tells him. "317." He looks almost feral, Cato Ableman, but he smiles at her.

She manages to shake off everyone else, and she takes Peeta upstairs.

Mrs. Abernathy promises to send a tub for him to wash, and she says she'll find fresh clothes for him, too. He sits heavily on the bed when they reach her room, and he looks so impossibly weary.

"I can fetch you something to eat while you wash," Katniss says, feeling strangely shy.

Peeta nods. She stares at him for a moment, and she crosses the room. She kneels and starts to unlace his boots. His fingers ghost over hair. "I can do that," he murmurs. She tilts her head up, sees that his eyes are closed. He must be exhausted. She takes off his boots; he doesn't stop her.

The tub arrives.

Katniss doesn't want to let him out of her sight, but he needs something to eat, and she can't exactly stand over his shoulder as he bathes. She squeezes his hand and hurries downstairs to the kitchens.

She gathers as much food as she can find, and the servants who remember Peeta are eager to help her. She piles a tray with salted ham cuts, collard greens, salt biscuits, and two potatoes, and she nicks more butter than she should and smears the warm cream over the food. She makes tea, too.

Peeta is finished with his bath when she returns.

The tub is still in the room, the water dark, and Peeta grimaces when he sees her look at it.

He doesn't look much better now that he is washed; his cuts and his bruises are easier to spot.

He is almost dressed, but he doesn't button his shirt quickly enough for her to miss how sickly thin he really is; she can count every rib, and she is almost afraid to ask what, exactly, happened to him. Instead, she sets the food on the table, tells him to eat, and starts to tell him what happened to her.

"I can't believe you did all that," he says, tearing into a biscuit.

"How could I not? I owe you my life ten times over, Peeta."

He stares at her, and he nods. "Well, debt paid." His smile is strange. Maybe it's the beard. He reaches out suddenly to take her hand. His eyes are on the ring, and she frowns. What's the matter? "We don't have to pretend any longer, do we?" he murmurs, smiling sadly. He starts to pull it off.

She is alarmed, and she curls her fingers, stops him. "What are you doing?" Her eyes meet his.

"It's okay," he says, "we don't have to pretend."

A hundred thoughts bombard her, and she can't pick out what to say.

She isn't any good at this.

How can she describe what she felt when she thought he would die? How can she make him understand how much she missed him, how she felt so strange, so lonely, so broken? And she was broken, she was, nearly beyond repair. How can she explain what she hardly understands herself?

It's stupid, this whole mess.

"Ask me," she says. The words come out before she can stop them.

He frowns. "Ask you what?"

"To marry you," she says. "Or are you still too afraid to ask?"

"Do you — do you _want_ to marry me?" He is incredulous. He doesn't understand.

"Is that it?" she asks. "Is that your proposal? All that practice, and that's it?"

He shakes his head. "No, wait, that isn't — I don't — " He can't seem to breathe. "I don't expect you to marry me, Katniss. I — I understand that you pretended. And you don't owe me anything."

She starts to doubt herself. "No. No, that isn't what this is about." She stands, steps away from him, shakes her head. "I don't understand it, and — and I never wanted to — I thought — I can't shapes words the way that you can, I possess no such talent, but that doesn't mean that I don't —"

He stands, brow pinched.

"_Ask me_, Peeta," she snaps, flustered. "Use your — your beautiful words. Ask me."

He stares at her, and he lets out a breathless laugh. He runs a hand through his hair.

"I used to think I loved you," he says. He shakes his head. "I was a child. I loved who I thought you were, and it isn't who you are. It isn't. But who you are is more than I ever could've imagined you to be." He starts to smile. "And who you are is more stubborn and unmovable than the Blue Ridge mountains, who you are is more radiant than the Virginia sun that rises over them, who you are is the most loyal, strong, frustrating woman I've ever met. And I am _madly_ in love with you."

She tries to nod. "That — that was good," she whispers.

"I haven't asked yet," he says. He kneels, takes her hand, smiles. "I will never have much means, but I will always truly love you, come hell or high water. Would you be my wife, Miss Everdeen?"

She stares. "It didn't have to be that elaborate," she says, words sticking in her throat. "It's just a question."

"Aren't you going to answer it?" he says, grinning.

"Yes," she says, and she feels silly and shaky and stupid, but — "Yes, I'll marry you." She smiles.

He laughs, rises to his feet, and clasps her face in his hands. "Are you certain?" he asks.

"I — " She covers his hands with hers. "I _need_ you," she says, because he will understand.

He kisses her.

His fingers slip into her hair, his palms warm against her ears, and she wraps her arms around his waist. She doesn't know how to kiss, but his mouth is warm and wet as his lips slant over hers, and she feels warm from her fingers to her toes, feels loved, can feel him smile against her mouth.

She smiles, too, feels happy, feels _hungry_, feels everything. Her hands slide into his hair. His lips travel along her jaw. His nose nuzzles hers, she digs her fingers into his shoulder, and he lifts her off her feet, his arms strong around her, his kisses as eager and as delighted and as hungry as hers.

He came back, and she refuses ever to lose him.

**tbc.**

a/n: Yeah, you read that right, I attributed Sheridan's famous ride from Winchester to Cedar Creek to Katniss Everdeen. Yeah. I went there. Anyway, this chapter was actually supposed to have another scene, but it was already plenty long enough! I'm sorry it took so long. I promise I never intended for so many weeks to pass, but time gets away from me! I really will try to be better about the last few updates.**  
><strong>


	10. Chapter 10

a/n: A _lot_ happens in this chapter. Buckle your seat belts, kids. And, just fyi, this won't be the final chapter. I've extended the story. There will be another chapter after this, and the epilogue will follow. So, despite previous pronouncements, two more chapter after this. :)

* * *

><p>The knock on the door startles Katniss, and she breaks away from Peeta.<p>

His eyes are bright, his lips red, swollen, _kissed_, and she touches her hand to her mussed hair, looking away, shy. But she can feel his smile when he kisses her forehead, and she watches him bound over to the door. She isn't sure who she expects, but she shouldn't be surprised at who it is.

"Hello, my dear!" Mrs. Abernathy greets. "I'm terribly, _terribly_ sorry to interrupt —" and Katniss glances over to see that Mrs. Abernathy appears far too thrilled to be sorry about anything. "But I've brought you some potpie for dinner," Mrs. Abernathy continues brightly, "because we can't have our beloved lieutenant as thin as a beanstalk! No, no, no," she clucks, "that simply won't do!"

"And how did you know that potpie was my favorite?" Peeta asks, grinning.

Mrs. Abernathy giggles. "Oh, _you_," she says fondly, cheeks pink. "I've missed you, sweet boy!"

He smiles, takes the food from her, and says that he missed her, too. She beams and leans forward to peck his cheek, murmuring something about "sweetheart" and "darling curls" under her breath, and Katniss bites her lip as Peeta seems to steer Mrs. Abernathy from the room, shutting the door.

He turns to Katniss and smiles as he sets the tray on the table, crossing the room in three strides.

And he takes her face in his hands to kiss her.

She laughs into his mouth. "No," she says, pulling away, trying to be sensible, "you should eat."

"I've been eating my whole life," he replies, peppering her face with kisses, his hands sliding down around her waist to tug her to him. "Haven't been kissing you my whole life. Doesn't seem right, does it?" He grins, and she laughs, breathless, as he presses his lips to hers, completely undeterred.

She puts her hands flat on his chest, pushing him gently towards the chair. "Sit," she says.

He sits. And reaches for her. She shakes her head at him, bemused.

She missed this, she realizes. The silliness. She missed it more than she would've thought possible, missed how silly he made her feel. But, still, she _needs_ to be sensible. "At least shave," she tells him, "and let me look at your cuts. I have ointment." And, just like that, her giddiness dims. "You were sick, weren't you?" she asks. Sick enough to be in the hospital. "Terribly sick," she whispers.

His smile is sad. "I was sick, yes. I, um, I wasn't in the best spirits, and I caught camp fever."

"Camp fever?'" she repeats. "I'm not sure what this is, to be honest."

"It wasn't anything pleasant," he says. "Not uncommon, though. A lot of boys catch it."

She bites her lips. "And a lot of boys die from it, don't they?"

He tugs on her hand, and she lets him have what he wants, sitting in his lap. "I didn't," he says.

"What were your symptoms?" She needs to know what happened.

He sighs. "I was feverish, of course. And thirsty. I don't think I've been as thirsty in all my life. I was sure I would die from it. And they gave me water, of course, and whiskey, too, I think. But it didn't really quell the thirst." He frowns, distant. "My tongue was fat in my mouth, I remember. Furred, too."

She brushes her hand over his hair. "Furred?" she says.

"That's as best as I can describe it," he says. "I don't remember much on account of the fever."

She isn't sure what struck him, but she remembers the terribly feverish patients who used to be brought to her mother, and she remembers talk about fat, furred tongues. It was typhoid fever, she thinks. It doesn't matter, though, not really, not when Peeta musters his sweet smile for her. "I'm sorry," she tells him.

He shakes his head. "Don't be. I survived, and you came for me. Got me out." He finds her hand and intertwines their fingers. His nails are jagged and dirty, she notices, and she can focus on that. Spying the knife on the tray that Mrs. Abernathy bought, she reaches for it. "It wasn't too terrible," Peeta adds. "I don't think I was in the hospital for more than a fortnight, and I survived, didn't I?"

She takes his hand and starts to pare his fingernails. "Don't act like it wasn't terrible, Peeta," she says. "I'm not a child." She pauses. "I killed someone. Another someone. I didn't mean to, but. . . ."

"Would he have hurt you?" Peeta asks softly, trying to catch her eye.

She shrugs. "I don't know. I think so. But he was drunk, and it was dark, and — I don't know."

It's quiet. She wishes she hadn't said anything, yet she couldn't help herself.

"It's war, Katniss," Peeta whispers. "And you're right. It _is_ terrible. But it's war, and you're not a killer. Just a survivor. Point Lookout was terrible. They bled me in the hospital, but it didn't do a blasted thing for me, and I — I was certain I would die. But I didn't. As feverish and as thirsty as I was, I recovered. I guess —" And she can hear the smile creep into his voice. "— well, I guess God must've thought it wouldn't be fair for me to die now that'd you finally fallen in love with me."

She looks at him, and he smiles, sweet and bright and genuine.

"Don't die," she tells him. It slips out, silly words she can't stop.

He kisses her, a sweet, soft kiss. "Never, not as long as I've you." Another quick kiss.

"Stop it," she insists, trying to be cross with him. "I've made you as insatiable as a little boy with sweet cakes. Let me finish with your hands." He chuckles, but he obediently holds out his hands.

And he lets her assess his cuts, too, before she makes him stand as she soaps his beard and starts to shave the dark blonde curls. "Have you heard anything from Madge?" he asks. She nods, and she tells him. Prim is fine. Her family is fine. Gale is fine. For the first time, the world seems kind.

He washes the soap from his face, and he beams at her. He looks younger already. Like himself.

She reaches out, touches his smooth cheeks. "Might I kiss you now, Miss Everdeen?" he asks.

She starts to roll her eyes, but he doesn't want for an answer. Honestly. Insatiable, she thinks.

But she presses closer, opens her mouth under his, and curls her fingers into his shirt. She doesn't understand it, the way she feels, the warmth and the wanting; it almost embarrasses her, how his kisses draw whimpers from her, how dazed he makes her feel, how she wants more, more, _more_.

He abruptly pulls away from her. "I should eat," he says, licking his lips, his cheeks flushed.

She blinks at him. "Okay. Yes, of course. You should. Sit." She turns towards the food.

He catches her arm, and she looks over at him. "How — how soon can we be married?"

It's almost like a plea, and she is startled. "I wouldn't imagine until after the war ends," she says.

He nods, but his eyes drop, and he seems disappointed. He doesn't release her arm. "Alright."

"Is that — is that okay?" she asks, frowning. "I don't much want to be married in Winchester."

He smiles. "No, nor do I. After the war, then." He kisses her forehead.

She feels a little unsettled, but someone knocks on the door, stealing her attention.

It better not be Mrs. Abernathy, Katniss thinks, because God bless the sweet woman, but —

Peeta opens the door, and Katniss stares for a moment. "I think we should talk," Cato says. He pushes past Peeta into the room, and Katniss doesn't miss how stiffly Peeta stands. They aren't friends. Clove follows Cato, and Katniss can't say she has any idea where she and Clove stand.

Are they friends?

Clove smiles, a slight, sly, guarded smile, and she touches Katniss on the hand.

Katniss is certain that's all the thinks for Cato's return that she can expect to receive from Clove.

Cato looks bad; he hasn't washed or shaved yet, the skin is stretched too thin over his bony face, and his left ear is bruised and coated with dry black, blood. He doesn't seem to care, though; he sits, looks expectantly at Peeta, and is as much the rude, arrogant bastard that Katniss remembers.

"I would rather spend some time with my wife," Peeta tells Cato, "something I would've thought you'd appreciate." He crosses his arms over his chest, and Katniss hasn't ever seen him look so unfriendly, his eyes cold, his face hard, his lips pressed together tightly with distinct displeasure.

But Cato is unfazed. "I was promised an explanation," he says. "I'd like it." His smile isn't a smile, and his eyes flicker to Katniss. "As I understand it, your wife saw that we were released from Point Lookout, but no one can bother to tell me how, exactly, she managed it. The orders came from Union general Sheridan, who I didn't think could be bribed. So. What did Mrs. Mellark do?"

"I don't see why it matters," Clove says, surprising Katniss.

Cato doesn't take his eyes off Peeta. "It matters."

"I found information that Sheridan wanted," Katniss says. "That's it."

Cato stares at her. His lip curls. "Did you spread your legs for him, too, you little Yankee twat?"

"Don't you dare," Peeta breathes, dark and quiet and furious, and Katniss touches his arm.

"I should've left you to rot," she snaps at Cato. She can't believe this. She saved his life, he was reunited with his pregnant wife, and he seemed grateful; after all, he _smiled_ at her when he arrived.

He chuckles. "But you didn't," he says. "Instead, you made me out to be a traitor. Tell me, did you leave Glimmer Davis holding the bag, too?" He shakes his head, sneering. "She wasn't for the Union. No, she wasn't, but she found out that you were, and you saw that Crane shot her for it."

"And why do you care?" Clove asks, almost hissing.

Cato grits his teeth. "I care because I'm not Yankee _scum_, and —"

"And you wanted to die in some cracker crate in Maryland?" Clove spits, vicious. "I would've let you, but I didn't realize my husband cared as much for the Confederate cause as fools like Seneca Crane. Cared more than he does for his own life. I didn't realize my husband was spineless enough to want —"

Cato tries to interrupt. "Clove, don't —"

"Don't what?" she sneers. "I might not like Yankees anymore than you do, but I'm more concerned with how to survive this war than whether or not Jefferson Davis want to pin a medal to my chest, and I thought you were, too. And when the Yankees win this war — and don't bother to deny that they will — _when_ the Yankees win this war, would you rather be another foolish Rebel with nothing to his name or someone who thrives in the aftermath, someone with respect and power?"

He shakes his head. "It isn't about that." He looks at Peeta. "I _trusted_ you."

"Trusted him?" Clove repeats, incredulous. "Since when did you trust anyone?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "I'm finished. Do what you like, but find somewhere else to sleep, you Nancy boy."

She stalks from the room, jerking her arm away from Cato when he tries to stop her.

"She saved your life," Katniss says. "She is the reason you were released."

Cato glares at her. "Don't tell me about _my_ wife."

"Don't call mine filthy names," Peeta snaps. "Look, I'm sorry that you feel betrayed. But my loyalty was always to the Union, and I'm not ashamed. Think what you like, but you owe my wife your life. Don't forget it. And do as you like, but don't forget, either, that Winchester is under Union occupation, and it might not be very wise to tell them that you're actually loyal to the Confederacy."

Cato stares at Peeta for a moment, his eyes flicker to Katniss, and he scoffs.

He leaves, slamming the door shut.

It's quiet.

"I feel as though a hurricane swept through the room," Peeta says, smiling tiredly. "I hate that man," he murmurs. "I truly hate him, much as I would like to say I don't hate anyone. I hate him."

He sits on the edge of the bed.

"But you're right," she says. "He doesn't have any power as long as Winchester is under Union occupation. All he can do is sulk about how he feels betrayed. I don't want to think about how many men he must've betrayed during this war." He is as hypocritical as he is cruel, Cato Ableman.

He can't touch them, though. He can't.

They're safe as long as Winchester remains under Union occupation.

Peeta eats the potpie, and he is almost finished when Finnick knocks on the door, loudly warns that he hopes they're decent, and struts into the room with a whiskey bottle in hand. Katniss doesn't really care for whiskey, but she sips the drink and lets Finnick tell an exaggerated tale about how he met her. He sings the Union Yankee Doodle, reenacting how Katniss stole his rifle from him.

She rolls her eyes and tries to fight off the sleepiness that sweeps over her.

Her nightmare features dark, cold forests and dead bodies, heads dashed against trees, and Rue smiles at Katniss as she helps bury the body, but red lines her teeth and blood gushes from her mouth, and Katniss is helpless to save her, and she trips over the bodies, heads bashed, and —

And Peeta whispers into her ear that it is only a nightmare, his lips against her forehead.

He strokes her hair, and she takes a few deep breaths. They're in bed. He must've put her to bed. He is with her, right beside her, wrapped around her. She closes her eyes and presses closer, finds his heartbeat, strong and steady under his cotton shift. Peeta is safe, is alive, is curled against her.

She blinks, and the curtains glow yellow around the edges. It's morning, or it's about to be.

Peeta is asleep on his stomach, and she is tucked under him, his arm wrapped around her waist.

She smiles, shifting slightly to rub her eyes. Peeta doesn't wake. The room is still shadowy, and she should let him sleep. He must need it. He hasn't said much yet about the prison camp, not beyond the basics, but she isn't going to press for anything. He'll tell her what he wants her to know when he wants to tell it. She touches the small bump in his nose, skates her finger over his eyelashes, ghosts her thumb against the mole beneath his right ear. He caught camp fever, he said.

It's a miracle that he survived, no matter what camp fever is.

She twists, moves to press her ear to his chest, not to hear his heart beat, but to hear his lungs, to hear him breath in, breathe out. The sound is sweet and slow and steady, not rattling, not uneven.

He mumbles something, and she tilts her head. He smacks his lips, and his arm tightens around her. She kisses him softly, and his eyelids flutter. She presses kisses along his jaw, to his throat, and feels him swallow against her lips. His hand touches her hair, and she looks up, finds his eyes.

His eyes are sleepy but bright. "Morning," he breathes.

"Morning," she echoes. She kisses his collarbone.

He shifts, though, and she smiles when he kisses her, his breath sour with sleep, his hands warm on her skin. His kisses aren't light and soft like hers; he presses his tongue against her lips, and he draws her tongue between his teeth, sucking gently. She feels _everything_, hot and hungry and him.

His mouth is warm and wet against her jaw and her throat, stealing her breath.

He stops, head over her breast, lips against her heart.

And he starts to move away from her. Her leg catches his, and her fingers curl into his shirt.

"I can wait until we're married," he says, eyes soft. He smiles, kisses her cheek. "I can wait."

She doesn't understand at first, but, staring at him, the understanding comes.

He can wait to be together the way the husbands and wives are together. Don't kiss boys, her grandmother used to tell her, because kissing leads to necking, and necking leads to doing what husbands and wives do, to what you shouldn't do until you're somebody's wife. And he can wait.

She lowers her leg, letting him roll off her and onto his back.

And she moves to her knees, finds the edge of her chemise, and lifts it over her head.

He stares. "We're — we're not married," he stutters.

"I'm wearing your ring, aren't I?" she asks, and she puts his hand on her waist. His palm is warm against her bare skin. "And you're mine, aren't you?" she asks softly. "Only mine, always mine?"

He nods, surging up onto his knees to kiss her, mumbling against her mouth.

"Always," he breathes, "always, always, always."

She smiles, only for her breath to catch when she feels his fingers find the drawstrings on her drawers, pulling lightly, and her hands grip his shoulder for purchase as he starts to kiss his way across her bare skin, down her neck, nipping her collar bone, nuzzling her breast. She slips her hands from his shoulder to his hair, legs shaky beneath her, and he tugs her drawers to her knees.

He kisses her bellybutton, and he slides his hands up to hold her, to lay her against the bed.

She can't really breath; she watches him pull the drawers off. He tugs off his shift, and her eyes rake over the bruised skin, the bones that peak out. She reaches out to run her fingers lightly over the starved, abused boy that belongs to her, but he must notice her guilt, her anger, her sadness.

He catches her hand and kisses her fingers. He smiles, putting her hands on his waist.

She tugs down his pants. And she stares, letting out a nervous giggle before she can stop herself.

"Are you laughing?" he says, eyes searching her face.

She bites her lip, forcing herself to look at his face. "It looks like it's mad at me," she says. She tries to school her features, but she can't do it. "It looks ridiculous." She starts to shake with the laughter she can't suppress, and Peeta shakes his head at her, bending over her and kissing her.

"Some wife you are," he says, nipping her lip.

She holds his face. "I'm sorry," she says. "I think you're very handsome. It's very handsome."

He raises his eyebrows, and she bursts into laughter, amused with herself, but he kisses and kisses and kisses her, and his hands are suddenly on her breasts, his touch sending heat spiraling through her spine. She stares at him, and he smiles. "I think you're beautiful," he says, reverent, and her fingers slip into his hair as his licks down her throat, as he takes her nipple into his mouth.

She shudders.

"Is this okay?" he whispers, breath hot against her wet skin. "I've never —"

She nods, unsure how to say what she wants, but she finds his eyes, and she nods. "Don't stop."

She can feel his lips curl into a smile against her breast, and he kisses and bites and licks, and she gasps his name, arching into him, when he sucks; she doesn't understand the warmth in her belly.

He moves to her other breast, and his hands brush over her legs as he settles between them.

"K-kiss me," she mumbles, and he obeys.

Her hands skate over his shoulders. "Spread your legs," he whispers.

She nods, and she lets spread her legs himself, lets him bend her knees, and he holds himself over her. His eyes find hers, and she holds his shoulders. He lowers himself against her, and he doesn't take his eyes from hers as he presses into her. The pain is sharp, and the pressure makes her gasp.

He stills, though, arms trembling, and she digs her nails into his shoulders.

She used to think she understood the way that married people were together; she looked after little neighborhood boys, after all, and she saw the unassuming thing that hung between their legs. She imagined that unassuming thing slipped into women, and that was that. She didn't expect anything else, but she tries to adjust to the discomfort. She shifts, and Peeta grasps the sheet beside her head.

He pulls out, and she feels unsettled and uncomfortable. He slides in. Out. In.

It isn't _anything_ like she expected, but —

The pain starts to fade, and he bends to take her breast into his mouth.

Oh, that's good. His skin starts to become slick with sweat, and the warmth is almost too much for her, twists her insides, frustrates her. She tilts her hips, and it makes Peeta groan against her breast; she tries to move with him, to meet his thrusts. It's awkward and strange, and she slides her hands to his hips. He stops. And she moves. He catches her rhythm, moves with her. A burn starts to spread through her, closer and closer to _something_ she can't reach, and Peeta shakily, wetly kisses her.

His movements becomes jerkier, and he mumbles her name against her mouth, whispers how much he loves her, breathes how beautiful she is, says wonderful, sweet things that she can't really hear, and her name is strangled on his tongue when he finishes. He opens his eyes, looks at her.

Kisses her, soft and sweet.

She feels warm, melted, strange, and she can't take her eyes from his. She loves him, completely, desperately, stupidly, and she shouldn't. She shouldn't love him the way her mother loved her father, she shouldn't. It's reckless, loving somebody like that, but she can't care, not at that moment.

She loves him. "I'm yours, too," she whispers. He smiles.

The second time doesn't hurt as much, but she is left beyond frustrated when he is finished.

He fetches breakfast, and they eat in bed, the sheets wrapped around their shoulders. But the food is abandoned after they finish the biscuits, and the third time, as he moves in and out, the warmth builds and builds and _builds_, making her desperate for more, until suddenly she is consumed with it, her whole body clenching with the pleasure. She sinks into the bed, smiling into his kisses.

She runs her hand through his hair afterward, and he leans into the touch, letting out a sigh, a hum.

It makes her chuckle. He's _purring_, she thinks, his breath tickling her breast.

As morning passes into afternoon, they finally leave bed.

She dresses, and they walk outside, arms hooked; he buys her chestnuts, and they eat dinner with Mrs. Abernathy, who continues to pass plates to Peeta, insisting that he have yet another. She coddles Cato, too, who doesn't look pleased with anything, but Katniss can't be bothered to care.

Johanna Mason seems to frighten Mrs. Abernathy, who searches for ways to talk to Johanna, only to retreat at the curt responses she receives. Johanna is unsmiling, stabbing her food with her fork, her whole body tense and tight, a coil ready to spring into action. She isn't anything like Finnick.

Katniss is surprised that they are as close as they are, in fact.

But the woman is a loyal friend, Finnick says, and Katniss believes him. Johanna seems like the type that looks after her own. She is from Georgia, Mrs. Abernathy manages to learn, and she isn't married. Her only sister died when she was young; her only brother died at Antietam. And, no, she would not like another biscuit, but she would like to eat her food without having to talk, thank you.

Katniss writes Madge that night, and she tells her the abridged story. _I'm safely in Winchester finally,_ she assures her friend, and she drops off the letter at the post office the very next morning.

She doesn't have any reason not to write. She doesn't have reason to hide her identity. She is safe in Winchester as long as the city remains under Union occupation, and she is almost certain it will.

"And what are you plans, sweetheart?" Mr. Abernathy asks. "To lounge around my hotel?"

She smiles, simpering. "And to enjoy your pleasant hospitality," she tells him.

"I think we _should_ stay at the Capitol," Peeta says, ignoring Mr. Abernathy. "We don't want to risk being caught in the war for the Valley. I imagine the fighting to be worse everywhere _around_ us."

Katniss nods. He is right. She is tempted to try to return home, because she doubts the men from whom she ran are still out for her blood; too much time has passed, after all, too many battles have been fought, too many men killed without reason, and no one who matters will bother to hound her. But the war rages around them, exactly as Peeta says. It isn't safe to try to travel through it. She can personally attest to that after these last months. It isn't worth the risk; she isn't about to let Peeta end up in another prison camp. And, besides, how much longer can the war possibly last?

It was never pleasant at the Capitol, however, and it hasn't suddenly _become_ pleasant.

Everything in town is scarce, food and alcohol and medicine, and Katniss doesn't want to think about how much worse the situation must be for those who aren't living with the Union army. The army is plenty supplied, after all, and the officers are more than ready to share with sweet Mrs. Abernathy. And, as the weeks pass, Peeta starts to spend time in the kitchens, and he charms the servants into letting him bake little treats for Katniss, biscuits and hoecakes and oatmeal cookies.

He spends two weeks repairing windows around town for pennies, and he buys coffee grounds with it. He is immensely pleased with himself, making her laugh, but she eagerly accepts the gift.

Katniss hasn't had coffee in years, and the smell alone seems like an extravagance.

She kisses Peeta, tasting the coffee on his tongue, and smiles against his lips. "Thank you."

But December dawns cold and snowy in Winchester, and support for the Union is fading. The people in Winchester aren't as lucky as the Union army stationed in their town, as Katniss is. She hears whispers about Sheridan, about how he abandoned God for glory, about the towns he burns and the people he kills. "They say that Little Phil is as ruthless as the Butcher," she tells Peeta.

She doesn't want to believe what she hears about him, though, not when she owes him everything.

"Wait, who is the Butcher?" Peeta asks, frowning slightly. "General Grant?"

She nods. This is a war, she thinks, and war is destructive, war is deadly. The more towns that Sheridan burns, the more the Confederacy suffers, and the sooner the war ends. It's necessary evil.

But — "He won't — how far west do you think Sheridan will send his troops?" she asks.

And Peeta understands. "He won't leave the Valley," he assures softly. "The burning is strategic, and he doesn't stand to gain from burning into the west." He smiles. "I'm sure your family is safe."

"And yours," she adds. She doesn't really know anything about his family, but she asks about them, and she smiles at the stories he tells about his brothers. He draws more pictures for her, of his brothers and of the bakery, of the streets that raised them both, of the school and of the church.

And, of course, he draws pictures of her.

She leans against him, her chin on his shoulder, and starts to protest. "Don't draw me, Peeta."

She can hear his smile in the words. "I like drawing you."

"But I don't look like that," she says. "I'm not — I'm _pretty_, perhaps, but I'm not —"

He doesn't listen, of course; he turns, kissing her. "Don't try to tell me that my wife isn't beautiful," he says, smiling as he reaches out to brush her hair from her face. "I won't stand for it, sweetheart."

His nose nuzzles hers, but she draws away from him.

"Do you have to call me that?" she asks, making a face. "It's what Mr. Abernathy calls me."

Peeta chuckles. "And what term of endearment would you prefer?" he asks. "Honey? Dear?"

"I think Katniss sounds lovely," she replies.

He doesn't stop, grinning at her. "Pumpkin? Darling? Sunshine?"

She raises her eyebrows at him. "Because of my sunny disposition, is that it?"

"Little Robin?" he suggests, kissing her cheek, trailing his mouth along her throat.

She rolls her eyes. "These are becoming more and more ridiculous," she tells him.

He kisses her collarbone, whispering the words into her skin, and her breath catches despite herself when his kisses between her breasts. "Beautiful? Precious? Beloved?" And he remains amused with his silly little names as he pulls away the blanket, kissing her stomach, his hands running along her thighs. Her head sinks into the pillow, her hands curling into his hair. "My ladybug?"

"Call me that," she says, "and I will strangle you with —"

He puts his mouth on her, and her whole body arches off the bed.

His hands find her hips, holding her, as his lips move against her, as he —

He pulls away, head popping up from between her legs. "How about my huntress?" He grins.

"Peeta," she breathes, annoyed at his antics, yanking on his hair.

It makes him laugh. "I'll keep thinking about it, shall I?" he asks, and he pushes his tongue into her, one hand snaking up to rub her breast, the other running steadily over her thigh. Her hands slip from his hair, grappling for purchase along his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, until —

She melts into the mattress, breathless, and he looks up at her with triumphant eyes.

She shakes her head at him, her hands grazing over the little red marks she left on his shoulders, making her feel guilty, but he doesn't seem to mind as he moves to kiss her. "How about Kat?"

She glares at him, which simply makes him laugh. "It's Katniss," she says. "Only Katniss."

He cups her face in his hands. "Only Katniss," he echoes, adoration in the words.

But maybe because she can hear the adoration, maybe because he bakes her bread and draws her pictures and holds his heart in his hands, maybe because he is hers, she can let him slip the shortened name into conversations. She can indulge him. "Merry Christmas, Kat," he whispers.

And, when he kisses her sweetly, she breathes the words. "Merry Christmas, darling."

It's a good Christmas, and Peeta looks as pleased as a pampered child when he presents her with cinnamon rolls. She can't imagine how he managed to find cinnamon, but they eat half the batch in bed, and she pulls his upper lip between hers, sucking away the cinnamon glaze, smiling at him.

She recites _A Visit from Saint Nicholas_, and that's when he lets it slip.

"I can't wait until have children," he murmurs, sighing, happy.

But she stills in his arms. "Do you — do you want to have children?" she asks, hesitant.

He shifts to look at her. "I do. I thought — we're married, and —"

"We're not married," she interrupts. "Not yet."

"But we will be," he says softly, stroking her cheek, "and we're together as married people are. There isn't really any way to avoid children, not as long as we continue to —" He stops, flushing.

She isn't sure why she never thought about it, but he isn't wrong. Marriage leads to children.

"I never wanted children," she whispers.

He nods, waiting for more. He always knows when not to speak. Always.

She brushes her hand over his hair. "Do _you_ want children?"

His eyes search her face. "More than anything," he admits, almost sheepish.

"Okay," she says softly. "I'll give you children." She shakes her head. "Heaven help me."

It's not like they can really avoid it, and if Peeta truly wants them —

He laughs, kissing her quickly, drawing away to stare at her, only to swoop in for another delighted kiss. She takes his face in her hands, deepening the kiss. But he pulls away, eyes bright.

"Let's get married," he says.

She raises her eyebrows at him. "I was under the impression we'd already decided to do that."

"No," he says, "let's get married now. Soon. Tomorrow!" He shifts slightly to sit up. "We can be married on Christmas, Katniss! And — and I know you wanted to wait for your family to see it, but we _are_ together as though we are married, and we are married in our hearts, I understand, but we should be married before God, too —" He seems to force himself to calm down. "We can celebrate with your family after the war," he says, "but please, Kat, let me take you to a church."

She stares at him for a moment. It is becoming harder and harder for her to deny him anything.

"Tomorrow," she agrees, and he beams at her, leaning in for another kiss. She stops him, though, her hand on his chest. "Do you realize the fuss we will we cause when we reveal to everyone that we're not _already_ married?" But that only makes him grin; she imagines he will probably revel in it.

As soon as the Christmas services are finished, they approach the minister.

He is startled at the request, but he agrees to the ceremony as long as they might have something to offer the church from their Christian hearts. Katniss hesitates, but Peeta doesn't. He tells the minister to wait a moment, and he starts hastily from the church, disappearing out the front door.

Katniss _hears_ Mrs. Abernathy scream.

The delighted woman storms the church a moment later, her eyes wide.

"How come you never told me?" she exclaims, and she starts to talk with a ferocity Katniss didn't realize the human race possessed. But Mr. Abernathy ambles in after her, looking entirely unsurprised, and he sighs heavily to himself as he searches through his pockets for something to pay the church. Peeta thanks him, and Mr. Abernathy grumbles something under his breath. "No need to thank us, my dear, sweet boy," Mrs. Abernathy says. "After all, you're like our children!"

It happens that very afternoon. Mrs. Abernathy wants them to wait a few weeks, to let her have time to prepare a party for them, to find Katniss a beautiful dress, to make her a bouquet, but "we don't want to wait," Peeta says. "I don't think I _can_ wait." And Mrs. Abernathy clutches her heart.

She cries during the short, simple ceremony, soaking her handkerchief.

Mr. Abernathy picks at his nails with his pocketknife, or he tries to, but his wife confiscates it.

Katniss smiles at Peeta as he slips the ring on her finger. "It really is mine now," she tells him.

She knows what he will say before he does. "It always was." And he is pronounced her husband.

Katniss isn't the least bit surprised when Mrs. Abernathy manages to throw something together for them that night. And it isn't entirely awful. The soldiers at the Capitol offer them moonshine, and Katniss is wary, but she toasts with the awful drink, dances with Peeta, and laughs alongside Johanna when Captain Finnick Odair makes an absolute spectacle of himself, a loud, rowdy drunk.

Her heart aches, though, as she leans against Peeta, feeling his chest rumble with laughter, and she remembers Prim. Her sweet, lovely Prim, her beloved little sister. She would've loved to be there.

Prim was always a romantic. Prim _is_ a romantic, Katniss corrects herself.

And her romantic little sister will be thrilled with the love story that Katniss tells her.

The next two months pass lazily, and Katniss spends more and more time with Johanna, who is sharper than most anyone Katniss has ever met, and with Finnick, who writes his wife weekly with poetry. She receives a letter from Madge, overjoyed with everything that Katniss told her.

A second letter from Madge comes only a week later, surprising Katniss.

"She can't have already received my reply," she tells Peeta.

He shrugs, and she is distracted when she sees Clove, walking down the street, her hand resting on her growing belly. Clove sees her, and she nods, a mere acknowledgement. Katniss hasn't spoken with Cato or Clove in the months since the boys returned, but they seem to be faring perfectly fine.

Katniss is surprised, honestly, that Cato hasn't started any altercations, but she won't question it.

She remembers the letter that night, and she tears open the thin envelope in bed.

The note is short, making her frown at the scrawled writing. _Katniss, I'm afraid that I write with unfortunate news. At the market this morning I learned from Mrs. Hawthorne that Prim is taken with consumption. I thought you would want to know. Is there any way you might come home? I've come from the Hawthorne house only this past hour, and Prim is asking for you constantly. I will keep you abreast of her health, and I pray for her and for you every night. All my love, Madge._

Consumption.

Katniss reads the letter twice, afraid she misunderstood. But she didn't, and she can't really breathe.

The last few lovely months seem to fall out from under her.

"What is it?" Peeta asks.

Her eyes snap to him. "It's Prim. She's fallen ill with consumption." The word sticks in her throat.

"Do you want to see her?" Peeta asks. "I'm sure your mother is looking after her, but —"

Katniss nods. "I need to see her." She climbs from the bed, but there is nothing for her to do. She paces, reading the letter a third time. The thin paper shakes in her hands. It's her hands that shake.

"As soon as are able tomorrow, we will start west," Peeta says, moving from the bed himself. His hands take hers, stilling them, and he holds her gaze. "We can be at her bedside within the week."

And she can only nod, letting him pull her to his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her.

She can't lose Prim after everything. She can't. It wouldn't be fair. And she almost laughs at her own thoughts, because nothing in her life has ever been fair. But she doesn't laugh; she presses closer to Peeta, curling her fingers in his shirt, and repeats to herself that everything will be fine.

It isn't as simple as to start west the very next day, though.

They'll have to head south before they turn west; the mountains are too snowy to pass over. She asks Finnick what the best route would be. He knows the geography better than anyone. "I can come with you," he volunteers. "I'm not exactly a terrible companion to have on the road, am I?"

She starts to tell him it isn't necessary that he come, but he doesn't let her.

"I'm not one to stay cooped up in Winchester until the war is finished," he says. "I'll gladly see you safely to your sister." And she can't deny his help. He _is_ good company to have on the road, and she'll accept any help that will see her to Prim. They start to make preparations to leave at dawn the following day, but Finnick finds Katniss in the kitchen, eyes bright, looking pleased with himself.

"What is it?"

"The troops are headed southward," he tells her. "We can travel with them. Sheridan is indebted to you, after all; he'll let you accompany the troops as far up the Valley as you like. And, well, strictly speaking, ladies aren't welcome to break camp with the troops, but we can work around that. Offer to help with the ambulances, or to have Peeta steer a supply wagon. We'll be safe with the troops."

Katniss isn't exactly as excited as he at the news. "Are you sure we should travel with soldiers?"

"Afraid of seeing the elephant, are we?" Finnick asks, grinning at her. "Don't worry, little lady. The battle for the Valley is nearly won. It'll be nothing to push out surly old Mr. Early, and we can say farewell to the troops before they're even forced to do that. We can leave off when they reach Staunton; they'll go to battle, we'll go to the west. From there it'll only be three days to your sister."

She bites her lip. "Fine."

But she still needs to talk to Sheridan, and he isn't an easy man to find.

He isn't staying at the Capitol, but they head out to the campsite, where Peeta and Finnick charm every Yankee they see until someone finally points them in the right direction. Katniss recognizes Sheridan from afar, talking with another general, a startlingly young man with long, bright red hair.

Finnick grins. "Armstrong," he breathes, and he starts for the generals. "General Custer, sir!"

The young general turns, starting to chuckle when he spots Finnick. Katniss isn't sure whether or not to be glad at the clear recognition. "My favorite Texan," the general declares, happily clapping Finnick on the shoulder. "How are you keeping, Captain? Are you causing your usual trouble?"

"Always, sir," Finnick replies, grinning. "Always."

The general laughs, and he introduces Finnick to General Sheridan "as my dear, clever friend." His eyes travel to Katniss. "And who have you brought with you, old boy?" he asks, smiling as he holds his hand out to Katniss, arrogance in his every gesture. Finnick starts to introduce Katniss.

General Sheridan doesn't let him.

"Mrs. Mellark," Sheridan says, smiling at Katniss. "We've met," he tells Custer.

Custer raises his eyebrows. "Have you?"

"Our Mrs. Mellark is a fine Southern lady," Sheridan says, "and a finer Yankee spy."

Custer nods, and Katniss takes his hand, lets him kiss her knuckles. "I'm honored, Mrs. Mellark."

Sheridan looks at Peeta. "Might I assume this is your husband, Mrs. Mellark?"

Peeta holds out his hand. "Peeta Mellark, sir. I want to thank you for seeing me released."

"Think not on it," Sheridan says. "We can't have our spies imprisoned, can we? But why've you come to the camp, may I ask? I don't suppose I can hope you've any important information for me."

Katniss shakes her head. "I'm afraid not, sir. I've come to ask for your help."

"My help," he repeats, wary. Hesitant.

"It's my sister, sir," she explains. "She is sick. Taken with consumption. I received news only yesterday, but I am desperate to reach her as soon as I possibly can. Captain Odair told me that your troops were headed south, and I hoped I might be allowed to travel with you until Staunton."

Sheridan frowns.

"Is your sister in Staunton?" Custer asks. "General Early is in Staunton. I would say you might do better to wait for us to clear him out, and you could follow in our wake when we'd taken the town."

"No, sir, she is west. But we can't travel over the mountains. We won't be any trouble, I promise. I can help with whatever work is needed. My husband can steer any wagons. We're not asking for much, sir, only to stay safe up the Valley with your troops as far as to Staunton. It isn't four days."

Sheridan seems to consider it. "Very well. I'm indebted to you. As far as Staunton, you may come with us. But I would ask that your husband steer, and you stay with him. We can't afford trouble."

"There won't be any trouble, sir," she says.

"And I can't guarantee your safety!" he adds. "Come, but you're out as soon as any problems start, or we come to battle. I'm not looking after you, nor are my troops. Do you understand me, ma'am?"

She nods. "Perfectly, sir."

It was easier than she expected.

The rest of the day passes quickly. Peeta and Finnick help load supply wagons, and they're told to report at the camp at dawn the very next day. Don't be late, Custer warns them; the army won't wait.

Katniss can't really sleep that night, no matter how many times Peeta tells her that she must.

She is dressed before the sun is risen, and Peeta squeezes her hand as they start down the stairs.

Mrs. Abernathy is waiting in the lobby to bid them farewell.

"As soon as this war ends," she says tearfully, hugging Katniss and murmuring the words in her ear. "I will come to see you, do you hear? I will come to see you and Madge and your little sister."

Katniss nods. "Until that day," Peeta tells Mrs. Abernathy.

The Union army surrounds them as Peeta helps Katniss onto the wagon and takes the reigns; he is driving a single wagon in a long train. They must make an amazing spectacle, she thinks, the whole army, with the soldiers dressed in their finest, splendidly equipped, their horses as healthy as can be. "Early won't know what to do with himself!" Finnick declares, hopping onto the wagon.

Katniss asks about the red ties around many necks, and the closest soldier beams at her, his eyes shinning with pride. "Means we fight for Custer!" he declares. A few minutes later, as one, the whole parade surges forward, cavalry, supply wagons, ambulances, everyone excited for the road.

She isn't. The road is a means to an end, to her sister.

It seems unreal that Prim is ill, that after everything, Katniss might lose her to consumption.

She _can't_ lose her to consumption. She can't lose her, period. She _won't_.

"The boys who fight for Custer are certainly proud," Peeta says. "I've read about him. They call him the Boy General. He is always written as very admirable. " He's trying to make conversation.

She isn't really interested.

Finnick, apparently, is. "I think he is among the better sort. But, of course, his troops call him the Iron Butt. The kid is a tough one. I'm surprised you haven't met him before yesterday, to be honest. He's been fighting with Sheridan in the Valley. He must never have come into the Capitol, I suppose, or into the town itself, for that matter. But, oh, Custer and Sheridan are good old friends."

They continue up the valley until nightfall.

The ground is muddy beneath them from steady drizzle, and it isn't easy work to set up camp, but Peeta and Katniss manage to pitch their own tent. Peeta helps Finnick set up another tent, but Finnick doesn't bother to go into it; he crawls behind Peeta and Katniss into theirs, grinning at Katniss and holding out his chew tin to Peeta. It's warm with the three of them cramped into one small tent. Katniss leans against Peeta, who starts to draw on crumpled paper from his coat pocket.

She smiles as the picture takes shape; it's them, huddled in the tent.

Peeta spits his chew into the empty tin, drawing Finnick with a devilish little smirk stretching across his face. "I think you've done him justice," Katniss says, glancing at Finnick, who demands to see it, tearing the paper from Peeta's hands. He tilts his head, squints, holds the drawing out.

"What's your assessment, Captain?" Peeta asks, amused.

"Very nice," Finnick declares. "I should have you draw my portrait for my Annie to swoon over."

He always says that. My Annie. It's sweet, Katniss thinks; for all his arrogance, Finnick is sweet.

"Be careful not to lose this pretty picture, Mrs. Mellark," Finnick says, handing Katniss the finished drawing. "We wouldn't want you to forget what my handsome visage looks like, after all."

And a devilish little smirk stretches across his face.

He doesn't end up in his own tent; he falls asleep in theirs, and Katniss doesn't begrudge him for it.

She wouldn't want to sleep alone, either, and the tent _is_ warmer with three cramped occupants.

It isn't a pleasant night's sleep, though. Katniss is accustomed to the noise soldiers make in a hotel, the way the floorboards in the landing above creaks with their constant, heavy footsteps, the low murmur that seems always to exist, the rowdy ruckus that leaks from around every corner. But an army camp is something else entirely, louder and rougher, the ground under her too hard and cold.

Her nightmares are terrible, the worst they've been in months, but Peeta holds her tightly to his chest, cradling her. She abandons sleep, and she presses close to her husband, waiting for dawn.

It's raining out when the sun finally rises.

"Come on," Peeta murmurs, "let's grab a root. It'll be a miserable day, I suspect."

And it is. The downpour continues, more sleet than rain, soaking Katniss to the bone. She clenches her jaw, arms crossed tightly over her chest, and presses close to Peeta. The army remains in high spirits, despite having to trudge over muddy roads. They reach the North Fork of the Shenandoah, and several impatient soldiers drown, but the officers put a pontoon bridge over the river, and the entire winding parade crosses the fork before the day is finished. It isn't much further to Staunton.

The rain lasts through the night, but Katniss manages to sleep for a few hours, tucked warmly between Finnick and Peeta. She is eager to start out the next day. They'll be in Staunton before supper, and they can start west the follow morning. She can be home with Prim before Sunday.

The day doesn't pass as quickly as she wants, though.

A Confederate general burns the bridge over the Middle Fork of the Shenandoah, and a skirmish ensues. But Custer deals with it, thank God, and they stop for the night outside Staunton, the sleet almost unbearable. "They're preparing for battle," Finnick says. "Sending men to trap the Confederates in the city. Unless you want to raise your pistol for Lincoln, I say we split off now."

Peeta nods. "Tomorrow morning," he says, looking at Katniss. "The army will continue south to Staunton, but we can break off and pass the city. We'll be able to turn west before the day is done."

Katniss is tempted to find Sheridan, to tell him their plans, to thank him. But it will only bother him, she thinks, and she understands. The sooner he takes the Valley, the sooner the war will end. And they can't leave, as it turns out, not until they reach Staunton and deliver the supply wagon.

The rain stops, at least. And a battle isn't waiting. The town is empty. Evacuated. The Rebels left.

"But our boys will chase them," Finnick says, sighing. "Well, let's head out, shall we?"

Katniss shakes her head. "Stay," she tells him. "Custer would surely like your company. Help him round up the Confederates and claim the Valley _entirely_ for the Union. We'll be fine, I'm sure of it."

Finnick looks torn. "I owe you, Katniss Mellark. I won't forget it."

She nods. "I believe it."

And he tips his hat at her. "All the best, little lady."

She rolls her eyes, and he starts to whistle _Yankee Doodle_ as Peeta collects their things. They arrived in Staunton only an hour ago, but she doesn't have any reason to linger in the ghost town and every reason to continue on her way to Prim, who is waiting for her, who _must_ be waiting.

She won't give up until she can see Katniss.

And Katniss can make sure her sister doesn't give up at all when she sees her.

Peeta pulls out his compass, turning slightly. He looks at Katniss. "Are you ready?"

She nods, and he presses a kiss to her temple. A few more days, and she will be with Prim.

They don't make it very far, though.

It isn't half an hour before it happens, in fact.

The shot rings out, and Katniss crouches on reflex, Peeta crashing to the ground with her.

She glances around, tense, ready to run. And her eyes land on the musket, pointed straight at her.

"Katniss Mellark," he says, drawing out her name. "I hoped we might cross paths."

How is this possible? It can't be.

General Snow. She doesn't believe it. But it is he, the same cold eyes, the same white beard, and she is trapped. She looks to Peeta, only for her heart to stop completely, because his face is crumpled with pain, and he is shot. Snow shot him, and his leg is bloody and twisted under him.

Her heart is suddenly pounding, not stopped, not silent, but frantic and panicked and terrified.

General Snow shot Peeta.

He is shot, his leg surely broken, and they are like treed prey, at the mercy of the cruelest man imaginable. Peeta tries to straightens as best he can, and his shoulder seems to jut out, as though to hide Katniss, as though to protect her. His eyes stay on Snow. "General," he greets, jaw locked.

He can't really be here. He can't.

"I must admit," Snow says, "I did not expect to have the chance to execute you." He looks at Katniss. "It seems I am a fortunate soul." He smiles coldly. "I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you coming into Staunton with the bluecoats. I was certainly glad I decided not to flee with Early."

"And why didn't you?" she snaps.

His eyes are somehow colder. "He is a coward. I did not wish to keep his company any longer."

"He fled without warning you, didn't he?" Katniss asks. "And you were left barely to escape."

"A blessing in disguise, it would seem," he replies. "I haven't forgotten what've you done, Mrs. Mellark, and I certainly consider myself very blessed indeed to have spotted you as I was leaving Staunton. I was especially surprised to see you leave, too. It made everything almost _too_ easy."

Katniss doesn't cower from his stare. She isn't trapped in the Capitol. They aren't playing any games. "Too easy to what?" she asks. "Trap us? Shoot us? _Execute_ us, is that your grand plan?"

Snow seems to consider her. His hand doesn't shake; the musket stays pointed at her heart.

"Crane was a fool. So easily convinced that you were innocent. That you were stupid. I should've told him otherwise. I should not have left Winchester without seeing you hanged. But I expected to return, and I thought I would wait until an opportune moment to stop you when the Yankees needed you most. Oh, I was very sure that you would not escape my wrath. And you shall not."

"I cannot believe we really haunted you the way you claim," Katniss spits.

His smile isn't a smile. "I do not easily forget those who betray me, Mrs. Mellark. Do you know that your father-in-law is unaware that you exist? Or, to clarify, that his son is wed. He was very interested to learn it. I'm delighted to say, in fact, the _entire_ family was surprised at the good news."

"I don't believe you," Peeta breathes.

Snow looks truly pleased with himself. "Believe what you like, Lieutenant. But I assure that you that I was fortunate enough to visit your bakery. I was surprised to come across it, I admit. And pleased at the surprise. I'm afraid I don't think your family was nearly as pleased, however."

Katniss touches Peeta on the back, trying to look as though she is comforting him.

She doesn't risk lowering her hand to the pistol tucked into his belt, not yet.

"My family was innocent," Peeta snarls.

Snow nods. "Oh, yes, your sister-in-law assured me that they were. My only regret is that I was unable to discover your family, Mrs. Mellark." His eyes narrow at Katniss. "I will have to settle for killing you. But, first, I must ask." And he starts to sneer. "Why did you betray your country?"

"I didn't," she says. She trembles with rage, or fear, or whatever he wants to imagine, and her hand inches closer to the pistol. "I did not betray my country or my state. My state betrayed my country, and I stayed true to what was right. And I shan't be ashamed, no matter what you might to do me."

Her fingers brush the hilt of the pistol.

And she presses her thumb into Peeta's back, hoping he can feel the pressure, hoping he can understand. _Do something_, she means to say. _Distract him_. She needs a single moment to pull out the pistol before Snow can stop her, a moment when his eyes aren't trained on her every move.

"Stayed true to what was right," Snow echoes. "Don't be stupid. This is war. There isn't any right or wrong in war. There is power. And you might think you've won because Sheridan is about to take the Valley from Early, the idiot, but the fight isn't finished yet, I assure you, and I will kill every fucking Yankee in Virginia before I defer to Abraham Lincoln and break bread with slaves."

Peeta starts to laugh, scornful, the sound unnatural from his mouth.

Snow stares at him, lips tightening, and Katniss curls her hand around the pistol.

"I doubt you will laugh, Lieutenant, when I kill your wife. And don't bother to insult my intelligence any further, Mrs. Mellark; you're not going to be able to shoot me with the pistol."

And, without waiting another moment, he fires his musket.

She ducks, pulling out the pistol, and Snow _misses_, because another musket fired, too, and Snow is shot, staggering to his knees, aiming his musket at Finnick. Katniss doesn't think about it. She fires the pistol, hitting Snow square between his shoulders, and she fires again, a third time, hands shaking until Peeta covers hers with his own. "It's over," he says. "He is dead, Katniss. It's over."

Snow is sprawled across the brown grass, motionless. Dead.

"We need to get you into Staunton," she says. "To doctors." She staggers to her feet, turning to Finnick. He saved them, distracting Snow the way he did, shooting him, and he can help her to —

Finnick stares at her, his mouth open, his face white. His hands are on his stomach.

"No," she breathes.

Snow staggered to his knees, turning to Finnick, aiming his musket at Finnick —

Finnick pulls his hands from his stomach, and they're bright red with blood.

The blood seeps into his shirt, staining the dirty cotton, and Finnick seems to choke. He lurches on his feet, and she can't take her eyes off him. "Get him to help," Peeta tells her, the words pulling her into reality. "Don't worry about me, okay? Never mind my leg. Better my leg than his life. Go on." She nods, stumbling to her feet as Finnick sinks to his knees. He looks up at her.

"I felt bad," he tells her, his mouth rimmed with red. "Not coming with you."

He was shot in the stomach.

She surges towards him, grasping his shoulders before he can fall entirely to the ground. "No," she says. "_No_. It isn't far into town, and we'll have you with the doctors in minutes. Do you think can walk? I can help support you, or do you want me to fetch help? Stay, focus on Peeta, and I can —"

He shakes his head at her. "Texas," he murmurs. "Go to Texas, okay?"

"Finnick, I'm going to get help," she says. He slumps against her, though, unable to hold himself up, and she tries to slip out from under him, but he won't let her, his hand grasping her arm tightly.

"Go to Texas," he says, the words coming out slow, clipped, taking too much effort. "Find her. My Annie. Take the drawing. My boy. Dorian." He smiles at her. "Give it to him for — for me."

She glares at him. "No. I'm going to put you with Peeta, and you're going wait for me to —"

"Don't sass me," he breathes, "I'm the man — man who saved — who saved your life, woman." He tries to grin. He can't manage to do it, not with his usual arrogant ease and charm.

Katniss struggles to her feet, holding Finnick under his arms, and she drags him towards Peeta.

"Hold on, Captain," Peeta tells him. "Hold on."

But Finnick chuckles, the sound strange and wrong and choked, and Katniss isn't stupid.

It's over.

Snow shot him in the _stomach_. It's over.

She starts from the clearing, though, and she can hear him say it, say her name, _Annie_, but she doesn't turn around. She can't watch him die. Help, she thinks. She needs to find help for Peeta.

**tbc.**

* * *

><p>an: That was a terrible place to end, I know. I need to finish my HG one-shot for the LLS fundrasier (see profile for details!), but I will try to do that as quickly as I can, and my goal is to get the next chapter up within a couple weeks!


	11. Chapter 11

They look awful.

Peeta leans against the scraggly tree, his face white and coated with sweat, pain etched into his pinched, colorless lips, and Finnick is slumped against him, eyes wide, glassy, and unseeing. He is alive, but he is teetering on the very edge, his breathing coming out slowly, labored, as though he is ready to be finished but his body doesn't know how to die. They look awful, waiting for death.

The soldier she ran into on guard in the woods is bending over Snow, and the soldiers she found in town look uneasy, refusing to let their eyes land on Peeta and Finnick. She doesn't blame them. But the doctor squats beside Finnick and starts to tear open his shirt, exposing pale, bloodied skin.

Katniss kneels next to Peeta, brushing his damp hair from his forehead.

"I think I'm going to lose my leg," he breathes. He looks as though he might pass out.

She is surprised he hasn't already, to be honest.

She curls closer to him, takes his hand, and kisses his knuckles.

A moment later, Finnick lets out an awful, guttural scream.

"Is that _really_ necessary, you piss pot?" Finnick pants, the words harsh and heavy as he struggles to say them. Katniss steels her stomach and glances over to see the doctor probing the wound, his hand bloodied as he finger disappears into the torn flesh, and her stomach rolls. She can't watch.

Peeta shifts, his hand tightening around hers. "He's helping you, Captain," he tells Finnick.

"It's a gut shot," Finnick spits, and Katniss is amazed that he is strong enough to muster the fury. "He can't — can't help, but he can — he can let — let me f-fucking die without making me —"

His words are cut short as whole face contorts, and the doctor rocks on his heels and wipes his bloodied hands on his trousers, apparently finished with his assessment. He turns to Katniss. "The bullet didn't touch his lungs," he says, "we're fortunate for that, but his stomach is terribly torn."

She isn't a fool. She can _see_ that his stomach is terribly torn. A gut shot, Finnick said.

The orderlies stumble into the clearing with the medical supplies, stealing his attention.

As soon as Katniss stumbled to the small, mousy doctor and started to explain what happened, the words tumbling from her mouth, he said he ought to try to treat the boys in the woods. It might kill them to try to carry them into town, and he told the orderlies to gather his supplies. "I'll start to assess the soldiers," he said, and Katniss led him through the woods to find both boys fading fast.

The taller orderly starts towards Peeta, saw in hand, and her heart seizes.

"No," Peeta breathes, grasping her arm, suddenly terrified. "No, I don't — I can't —" It's one thing for him to admit to her that he'll have to lose his leg; it's another for him to see the knife that'll do it.

Katniss clutches him to her chest. "The bone might not be broken," she protests.

The doctor pulls a small knife from his pocket, turning to Peeta and starting to cut though his trousers before Katniss can say a word. Peeta seizes against her when the doctor probes the wound, and he passes out, sinking into her arms. "I'm afraid the bone is broken," the doctor says.

"We have something to keep him out," an orderly adds. "He won't feel nothing, ma'am."

"But," the doctor continues hastily, "should you prefer that he keep the leg —"

She nods. "I do! Of course, I do!"

The orderly cuts in. "A clean cut, and he'll live. Anything else, you risk killing him." He looks pointedly at the doctor, but the doctor acts as though he can't hear the orderly, his eyes on Katniss.

"I've an innovative technique," he tells her. "We _set_ the bone, and we —"

The other orderly sighs. "This is gonna be like the maggots, isn't it?"

"It saves life _and_ limb!" the doctor declares, glaring at the orderlies. "And I'll need you, Brant, to put away your papers, because we need not record any names for the dead! And take the cloth, wash the wound on this soldier." He nods at Finnick. "The bullet tore through him, but I can sew up the wounds. And I'll need you, Jackson, to hold our other soldier while I deal with his leg."

He nods at Peeta, and the orderlies surge forward.

Katniss is stunned.

"I assume this is your husband," the doctor says. "Might I ask for his name, ma'am?"

She nods. "Mellark. First Liuet. Peeta Mellark."

And the doctor smiles. "I will try to set his leg, Mrs. Mellark. I'll need you to stand back, though."

She moves away from Peeta, hesitant, and the taller orderly catches her eye. She can see what he wants, what he thinks. Cut off the leg, and Peeta lives. It's simple. Anything else, and she risks killing him. He is passed out, his mouth slack in his pale, sweaty face. He can't make the decision.

And Finnick is alive despite everything, swaying where he sits, staring at nothing as the other orderly leans over him, cloth in hand, cleaning his wound, because the doctor intends to save him.

But the fact that he hasn't died, that he took a shot to his stomach half an hour ago, yet —

It's absurd.

The doctor touches her arm with bloody fingers. She feels faint. "Don't worry, Mrs. Mellark," he says. "My name is Arvin Aurelius, and I'm an able operator, I assure you. I've saved many lives."

"Do whatever you can," she breathes. She presses her palms into her eyes until her head hurts. It's falling apart around her, the whole world; Prim is sick and Finnick doesn't have more than minutes to his name and Peeta might lose his life because she doesn't want him to lose his leg. It's absurd.

Peeta jerks awake suddenly, his whole face contorted with pain.

She wants to go to him, to help him, but the orderly is already putting clothe over his mouth. Peeta stiffens, his eyes seem dizzy for a moment, and he slumps over, momentarily spared from the pain.

The doctor starts to tend to Finnick, and his hands disappear _into_ Finnick, into his torn stomach.

And Katniss stumbles away, retching into a butterfly bush until her throat burns.

She doesn't know how long she waits, but the sun is high overhead when the orderly fetches the ambulance wagon. Katniss climbs on, wedged between the boys. They're strangely indistinguishable in that moment, unconscious, their faces pale, their lips colorless, their clothes bloodied and soiled. She can't look at Peeta, but she takes his hand as they start towards town.

The awful weighs heavily on her shoulders, and she can't escape the sickness that sits in her belly.

They've set up a makeshift hospital in a large, abandoned house that overlooks the city, and Katniss washes her hands and face in a porcelain washing jug edged with gold. Someone pressed lavender flowers into the soap she uses. She can't remember when she last she smelled something as lovely.

Peeta wakes, face flushed and feverish.

He mumbles under his breath, and she looks nervously at his plastered leg.

A nurse with thick red hair tries to help Katniss undress him, but she doesn't need help. She can look after her husband, thank you very much. She uses the lavender soap, washing his hands, his arms, and his torso, trying to clean the blood and sweat and dirt from the little cuts that pepper him.

She tries to wash his hair, too, and puts a cold cloth on his forehead.

It seems to help.

She is afraid to look under the bandages that cover his plastered leg. She should, because she should find out whether his blood was poisoned. She should find out whether she needs to make the operator take his leg. But she is afraid at what she might find, afraid that she might need to make the demand. She dreads it. And she needs to look after Finnick, too, doesn't she? She does.

Because Finnick is alive. Still.

He is sweating through the sheets, tossing in the bed, and her hands shake as she struggles to tug off his shirt. His torso is completely bandaged, but she can't smell rot, and her mother used to say that smelling rot spelled the end. The end hasn't arrived yet. She can't do anything for him, not really, but she washes him as best she can, and she search through his things to find it. His Annie.

She slips the beloved photo under his pillow before she returns to Peeta.

She falls into an uneasy sleep, her thoughts flickering between Peeta and Prim, and she wakes to find Dr. Aurelius looking over Peeta. "His leg is healing very well," the doctor says, smiling. "I'm very pleased." He nods his head to himself, and he pats her hand. "But I'm sorry to have woken you, Mrs. Mellark. Try to sleep, I urge you." He heads to another patient. She can't sleep, though.

She reads the letter from Madge.

Prim is waiting for her.

But she can't leave Peeta. And Finnick doesn't have anyone else, either.

Morning comes, and Peeta blinks groggily at her. He murmurs her name, and he tries to smile.

He is awake, and he is aware. She squeezes his hand, and she tells him that the nurse should be around with broth. She can find him water, though. His fingers curl around her palm, stopping her.

"I'd rather have you," he rasps.

She intertwines their fingers.

He doesn't have an appetite, which frightens her, but she uses little kisses to coax him into eating the broth that the nurse offers him. She makes him drink, too, and an orderly changes his bandages. He dozes throughout the day, but he is recovering, and he hasn't lost his leg. And he eats that night, sitting up in bed. He'll survive. She can't say she is as confident about Finnick, who moans throughout the night, fussing at every nurse, unable to eat any food, choking on everything.

It seems as though bringing death to him might be merciful, but she isn't about to suggest it.

Peeta slips into sleep, and her eyes trace over his leg. Dr. Aurelius is convinced that Peeta will be as he was, is convinced that it will be as though his leg were never hurt, but she can't really imagine that's the truth. Surely, he'll not have the strength he did. He'll be crippled. Or his leg will pain him.

She falls asleep in a chair beside Peeta, and she wakes to find him sitting up in bed.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"Very well." He smiles softly, his eyes clear. "I'm going to be fine."

She looks him over, doubtful; he would lie for her benefit, she's sure of it.

But he _is_ going to be fine. The morning light trickling in the windows lights his face, and he isn't as pale as he was, isn't coated in sweat or given to shakes. She smiles, wiping a little broth from his bottom lip. "But you'll need to stay in bed for at least a month," she tells him. "Or longer, I expect."

He nods. "I can feed myself, though. And there are nurses to look after my leg."

What is that supposed to mean?

"I can look after you as well as any nurse."

She might not have the healing touch that her mother and Prim possess, but she isn't useless.

"I mean that you don't need to stay," he says. "Or do thoughts about Prim not plague you?" His gaze doesn't waver, and his words are firm. "Go to her," he says. "I'll be fine. I'm not going anywhere, and the Rebels aren't about to take Staunton. I'll be safe, and your sister needs you."

She stares at him. She can't _leave_ him. He needs her.

"I shall be fine," he continues. He grasps her hand. "I _will_ be fine."

Prim needs her, too. Peeta is recovering, but Prim isn't. Not yet. Katniss needs to be with her sister, needs to look after her as she hasn't for years. "I'll return as soon as Prim has recovered," she says.

But people don't really recover from consumption, do they?

Prim will. She is young and strong, and she'll recover.

"Or I'll come to you after I've recovered," Peeta says, "whichever happiness finds us first."

She nods. It's Sunday. She won't manage to make her way very far on Sunday. She can use the day to gather food and to plan her route, and she can leaves as soon as daylight comes tomorrow.

"I can already see your mind spinning with plans," Peeta says. He tugs on her hand.

"It'll be the first time I've travelled alone," she replies.

He frowns. "Are you worried? I'm sure we could ask someone to —"

"I can handle it," she interrupts. "It's simply sad to think that those with whom I've travelled. . . ."

She doesn't finish. Rue is safe. She knows it. And Finnick —

"Finnick survived another night," Peeta says. "He could survive many more." He is bright, encouraging; she wants to believe him. "And we'll find Rue as soon as the war ends." She nods.

And, again, he tugs on her hand.

"What is it?" she asks. "Do you want me to fetch someone?"

"No," he says, "I want a kiss." He looks at her impatiently, petulant, and she is surprised at the smile that tugs on her lips. She leans forward, her knee pressing into the thin mattress, and cups his face as she kisses him. His arms instantly wrap around her waist, trapping her against his chest.

She doesn't mind.

She kisses his cheek as she draws away to let him breathe; he isn't entirely recovered, and he shouldn't exert himself. His hands curl into her skirts, his protest evident in his pout. "We aren't alone," she tells him, because it's an argument he'll accept. She shifts, though, to sit beside him on the bed, tucked against his side. It appeases him. She turns, feeling his heart against her forehead.

It calms her, lets her think.

It'll be two days at best to Prim.

"I love you," Peeta says. He says the words often, and she suspects he likes to say them; they're cherished on his tongue, as though he is reveling in them. He loves her, and he likes to say it, is allowed to say it, because she loves him, too. She doesn't say it as often as he, but she loves him.

She was never much for words.

It's harder to leave him than she would've thought.

She hasn't spent more than mere hours away from him since Sheridan saw him released from Point Lookout, and being without him makes her nervous. Uncomfortable. She doesn't like it, the neediness, and her mind returns continually to her mother, lost to the world after her father died.

But she isn't like her mother.

And she can't think about the past. She needs to focus on the present. On Prim.

She kisses Peeta goodbye, takes his pistol, and starts for home.

It's late on Tuesday when she arrives in town, her legs aching under her, chilled to the bone from the constant drizzle overhead. The town is grey and quiet, a shell with the insides cared out from the war that swept through. She heads down narrowing, muddy streets towards the Seam, and the landscape is painfully familiar. She sees a few familiar faces, but no one really pays her any mind.

A child shouts gleefully, and Katniss sees their house ahead.

It's been in their family for generations.

The fence is gone. A few broken posts remain behind, but the rest must've been used for firewood.

And the house is empty. There isn't any food in the kitchen, Lady isn't on the porch, the rooms are quiet. No one lives in this house. She stands in the kitchen for a moment. It was where she stood when she promised Prim that she would come home. It was where she stood when Rue handed her a bundle with food, clothes, and medicine, ready to run. Katniss swallows thickly and tightens her hold on the very same bundle, packed with food, clothes, and medicine, the silence overwhelming.

It isn't far to the small, brown house where the Hawthornes live.

The windows are open, the curtains fluttering in the wind, and the place seems to glow as the sun sets. A little girl rushes out to meet her, small and slight, grinning widely. It's Posy. "Katniss! I lost my front tooth!" She hops around Katniss, and Mrs. Hawthorne appears in the doorway, smiling.

But her smile is sad. Katniss can't find her voice.

"She hasn't passed," Mrs. Hawthorne says, opening the door wider for Katniss.

Katniss tries to thank her, but she isn't sure the words come out. She sees Vick at the kitchen table. He moves to his feet, nodding at her. He looks shy. He was only a child when she left, but he is tall as can be, surely growing every second. Mrs. Hawthorne leads her down the hall to her room.

Mrs. Everdeen is beside the bed, and Prim is in it.

She looks as sick as Katniss imagined; her tiny body is emaciated, her lips parted in sleep, air rattling loudly in her lungs with every breath. "She was certain that you would come," her mother says, and Katniss nods. Mrs. Hawthorne touches her shoulder, helping Katniss take off her coat.

She should change into something dry, and she should eat, and ask after Gale, and —

She sinks on the bed, reaching out to her sister, stroking her hair, feeling her forehead.

Her skin is feverish to the touch.

"I've done everything that anyone can," her mother murmurs. "It's in God's hands."

No, it's in her hands. And Katniss isn't about to let her sister die.

She stays on the bed until Prim wakes, and her sister looks at her with glassy eyes. She starts to smile, and Katniss finds herself smiling, too, as Prim reaches for her. Katniss takes her hand, small and dry, and she kisses her knuckles. "I've been waiting for you," Prim tells her. "I missed you."

Her voice is wispy, catching for the briefest moment on every other word.

"I missed you, too, Little Duck," Katniss says, brushing the hair from Prim's face.

Prim laughs, and the sound is frail, but her eyes are bright. Alive.

"Madge said you married Peeta Mellark," she says. "I can scarcely believe it."

Katniss nods. "Nor can I," she admits. "But it's the truth. A few months ago, we wed."

"I'm glad," Prim says. "I like Mr. Mellark."

"Me, too," Katniss says, smiling.

"Rory asked me to marry him," Prim says. "He was home on leave. He took me to the lake, and we swam the entire day. And the very next morning, when the sun was rising, he took me out onto the porch, and he asked me." She bites her lip and smiles sweetly at Katniss. "He said he didn't want to ask at dusk, because that's the end of something, and he wanted to ask at the start of something."

She takes a slow, heavy breath, but her smile doesn't fade.

And she's talking despite how weak she is, and she's fine. She's going to be fine.

It's not common, but people recover from consumption. It's happened.

It might take months, but Prim will recover.

"He loves you," Katniss says.

"I love him," Prim whispers. "We'll be married as soon as the war is finished."

Katniss nods, smiling softly at her sister. "He'll be a good husband." It's quiet. She can't take her eyes off her sweet sister. It doesn't seem real that she is home, that she is beside Prim. But she is.

"Is Mr. Mellark a good husband?" Prim asks.

"He is a very good husband," Katniss says. "He's been worried about you."

"How did he ask you to marry him?" she asks.

Katniss smiles despite herself. "With silly words," she says.

"What silly words?" Prim asks, delighted, eager, exactly as Katniss expected her to be. "Tell me."

Katniss shakes her head. "I'm as unmovable as the Blue Ridge Mountains, and he loves me for it."

Prim giggles. "When did he fall in love with you? When did you fall in love with him?" She looks mischievous. "When did you _realize_ you were in love with him?" She tries to sit up as she speaks, but her arms can't seem to support her, and sharp, painful worry pinches Katniss at the reminder.

Prim is going to be fine, but she _is_ sick at this moment, needs care, needs rest.

"I should fetch you something to eat," she says, moving to stand.

"I'm not hungry," Prim protests.

"All the more reason for you to eat."

Katniss finds her mother in the kitchen with Mrs. Hawthorne, a tray already ready for Prim. Mrs. Hawthorne is humming under her breath as she tends to the stove, but Mrs. Everdeen looks at Katniss. "How are you?" she asks. She looks the same as she did three years ago, thin and tired.

"Fine."

She takes the tray to Prim, who she finds staring sleepily at the wall.

"I'm not hungry," she protests. "I want to hear about you and Mr. Mellark."

"I'm terrible with stories," Katniss says. "Wait to ask Mr. Mellark. He'll tell you every detail."

Prim swallows thickly, shaking her head. "No, I want _you_ to tell me. Please, Katniss."

"Eat," Katniss says, "and I'll tell you."

She can't deny her sister.

She helps prop up Prim will pillows, and she manages to feed her the biscuit, dipped in the peas pudding. But Prim requires more information with every bite, and Katniss tries to tell her what she wants to hear. About the kiss that saved her life. About the story Peeta tells, how he fell in love with her when they were only children. About how he loves to draw, and he draws home for her.

Prim starts to fade before very long, though, slipping soundlessly into sleep.

Katniss finishes the food for herself, and she closes the door, undresses, and crawls into bed beside her sister, smiling when Prim curls against her. It doesn't take her very long to fall asleep.

But it doesn't take her long to wake up, either, when Prim starts to shake violently beside her.

Her clothes are soaked with sweat, her hollow cheeks flushed, and she is coughing violently, her lips painted bright red with the blood. Katniss is alarmed, scrambling to sit up, trying to cradle Prim in her arms, but there isn't really anything she can do. Prim coughs, struggling to breathe, and their mother hurries suddenly into the room, mint leaves in one hand and clean rags in the other.

Katniss doesn't leave the bed as her mother kneels beside Prim, putting the leaves to her nose and holding the clothe to her mouth to catch the blood. It takes another few minutes, but the coughs subside, and Prim sinks against the pillows, face flushed, her breath coming out slow and ragged.

"I'm sorry," Prim whispers.

Katniss shakes her head. "No, Little Duck," she says. "Don't apologize. Sleep." She strokes her hair, and Prim drifts to sleep within minutes, as though waking from a bloody cough isn't startling.

Katniss watches her.

"She's dying," her mother whispers. "I've seen what death looks like when consumption claims you, and she's dying." The words are quiet and emotionless. Katniss clenches her hands into fists, and she waits for her mother to leave. Prim isn't dying. "She's been holding out for you, darling."

"She can't die," Katniss says. "I won't let her. She held out for me, and she'll hold out for Rory, too. She won't die without seeing him safely home for war." And Katniss will see them married.

"Katniss," her mother says, a tremor in her voice. "Katniss, Rory is dead."

"I thought —" She looks at her mother.

"He died two months ago. Mrs. Hawthorne showed me the letter."

Katniss is stunned. "No. Prim said they would be married as soon as the war ended."

"I didn't know how to tell her, and a few weeks later she was sick. And it seemed cruel to tell her."

"She'll find out, Mother."

And her mother stares sadly at her. "She's dying, Katniss. Nobody survives consumption."

"Some people do," Katniss protests.

"It's hearsay that the healthy body might withstand it," her mother murmurs, "but I've never seen a patient recover from it." Katniss can't listen to this. How can their mother turn on Prim?

"She might not recover, not truly," Katniss says, "but it's possible to live years with it, isn't it?"

"It's only been a month," her mother replies, "and Prim is already too frail to leave bed."

Katniss isn't going to give up on her. "I won't," she tells her mother. "No matter what, I won't."

Her mother nods, closing her eyes and pressing her lips together, and she seems to take a slow, deep breath. She wipes the tears that gather on her lashes and musters a small, sad smile. "I'm glad you've come," she murmurs. "I reckon she can — she can pass peacefully with you beside her."

"She isn't going to pass," Katniss snaps. She can't bear to look at her mother, to have her mother look at her. She focuses on Prim, sleeping restlessly. There's blood flecked on her chin. Katniss licks her thumb and wipes away the bloody spittle, ignoring the way her hand shakes as she does.

"I don't have anything for her pain," her mother says.

Katniss doesn't reply, and her mother leaves at last.

The night seems to carry on endlessly, but Katniss doesn't sleep.

The next few days aren't terrible, though. Prim sleep for hours at a time, and she peppers Katniss with questions about Peeta when she is awake. She talks endlessly about Rory, and Katniss tries to tell her about his death, but the words dissolve in her mouth. She will wait until Prim is stronger.

They play checkers, and Katniss makes Prim laugh with stories about the dashing Captain Odair.

She doesn't tell her what's happened to the dashing captain, though.

But as the week passes, Prim starts to sleep more and more, dozing through entire days.

A fortnight after Katniss arrives, her sister can't stay awake for more than minutes at a time. A month, and the inevitable gnaws at Katniss as she attempts vainly to interest her sister in anything.

Prim sleeps through the night, waking briefly when a coughing fit seizes her, but she is asleep again within moments. She sleeps away the morning, too. Katniss wakes her to try to have her eat a little something, but Prim refuses to swallow more than a few spoonfuls, her eyes drifting closed.

"Will you sing me something?" she asks.

"Only if you promise to recite some poetry for me," Katniss says.

Prim giggles softly, nodding. "I promise."

Katniss remembers Buttercup. What's happened to the old, awful cat?

He must've died.

Katniss feels sick to her stomach, but she ignores it.

She sings her sister to sleep, and Prim wakes an hour later when the coughs overtake her. Her breathing sounds particularly pained afterward, and her eyes seem to stay half-lidded. "What's your favorite thing about Mr. Mellark?" she asks. "I like his smile. And he's very handsome, isn't he?"

Katniss strokes her cheek, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the cold cloth.

"He is very handsome," Katniss agrees. "I like his curls."

"Is that your favorite thing?" Prim asks.

"His perseverance," Katniss says, deciding. "That's my favorite thing. Peeta Mellark perseveres."

Prim is asleep.

The next night is infinitely worse.

But she helps Prim through the night. And Vick helps her carry Prim out onto the porch the next morning. They watch the sun rise with Prim leaning heavily against Katniss. "Rory hasn't written me in months," she whispers. She doesn't look at Katniss. "And he's not going to write me, is he?"

Katniss stares at the tea that Mrs. Hawthorne brought out. She doesn't know how to respond.

"He was the bravest man in the entire world," Prim says, closing her eyes as a few tears slip free.

Vick carries her back to bed.

And Katniss sings and tells stories and watches over her sister as she sleeps away another day.

Prim doesn't want to eat dinner, choking every time Katniss tries to coax her to take a bite.

She vomits up the little soup that Katniss manages to feed her.

Katniss lies on the bed beside her, stroking her hair, refusing to believe it.

"I have much more to tell you, Little Duck," she whispers. "I'll need years to tell you everything."

Prim curls closer, her hot breath fanning against Katniss's cheek. "Are you going to have children with Mr. Mellark?" she whispers, voice as thin and dry as paper, the words catching in her throat, coming out with jagged edges. "I think you should have children with him, Katniss," she mumbles.

Katniss strokes her hair. "I think I should, too," she says. "And you'll help me look after them."

Another night, she tells herself. She needs to take everything one step at a time. She will see Prim through another night, and she will worry about what happens tomorrow when tomorrow comes.

She starts to sing to Prim, clenching her hands into fists when tears threaten to break into her voice.

Prim is asleep by the time Katniss finishes the song.

Another night, that's it.

But Prim can't seem to breathe, each attempt making her chest shudder, each breath sounding wet and rickety, as though she is gasping for air that can't be found. Katniss shifts closer to her, covers her lips with her own, and blows air into her mouth, breathing for her. "Is that better, Little Duck?"

Prim hums softly, nods. "Do you think —" she breathes in sharply, struggling; Katniss blows air into her lungs, "— do you think Rory will cry when — when we're married?" Her eyes are closed.

"I do," Katniss whispers, and her tears slip onto Prim's cheek. "I will, too."

And she keeps breathing for her sister, until, quietly, the world ends.

Prim's chest doesn't rise and fall, and Katniss starts to shake at the terrible truth.

She can't breathe for Prim, because Prim is dead. She slipped away, lost. Gone.

Another night passes, and the sun rises to find Katniss lying in bed with her dead sister.

She can't sleep, and she can't leave the bed. She waits for her own breath to stop, too, because she can't imagine how she is supposed to be in this world, breathing, living, _existing_ without her sister.

She brushes her fingers through Prim's soft, downy hair, and the sunlight catches on it. Her ring. _Peeta_. She closes her eyes. She needs to leave this bed. She needs to go to Staunton. To Peeta. But how can she abandon Prim? How can she leave this bed, put Prim in the ground, and walk away?

She can't.

She left three years ago, and this is what waited for her when she returned.

She must fall asleep, because she rolls over, and her mind is muddled with sleep, her mouth sticky and dry. She reaches for Peeta, but she is alone in the bed, and the memories wash over her. Prim.

And she is alone in bed. She panics, scrambling to her feet.

The room is empty, sunlight curling around the closed curtains in the window. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and stumbles from the room. Mrs. Hawthorne is in the kitchen, her eyes bloodshot.

She looks as though she might try to say something, but Katniss isn't interesting in talking about it.

She finds her mother on the porch, staring at nothing, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"The funeral is tomorrow morning," her mother murmurs. "I'm sorry I didn't wake you, but I thought you needed to sleep, and Gale Hawthorne was able to take her body without rousing you."

Katniss sinks to sit on the steps beside her mother. "How is Gale?" she asks.

She hasn't seen him in the week since she returned; she's been too busy with Prim.

"He is as well as he can be. He's been helping his mother look after Posy and Vick." Her words are blank, emotionless. "He is married." And she glances at Katniss. "But you are, too, aren't you?"

Katniss nods, and the sobs shake her, crawling into her throat, choking her, but she refuses to acknowledge them, swallowing thickly. She is married, and Prim missed it. She is married, and she can have children and live until she is old, but Prim won't. Prim is dead. And Katniss can't breathe.

No, that's night right. Katniss can breathe; it's Prim who couldn't breathe because she was sick, Prim who can't breathe because she is dead. Her mother touches her shoulder, but Katniss can't —

She pushes herself to her feet. She can't talk with her mother, or with Mrs. Hawthorne, or with anyone. She crosses the street to their empty house, and she sits alone in the empty, silent kitchen.

And that night, sitting alone on the kitchen floor, she cries until her head pounds.

The funeral is small.

The entire town is small, everyone lost to war and to starvation and to fever.

It's quiet, and it's sunny, and Greasy Sae stands beside Katniss. The old, toothless woman survived. The pastor reads from the book, and Madge says something sweet about Prim when Katniss can't find her voice. Madge is with Gale, Katniss realizes; they're holding hands, and her mother said that Gale was married. Katniss waits to feel something about it, but she doesn't.

Gale is married to Madge, and Prim is dead.

Katniss wanders off to find flowers.

She should lay her sister to rest with flowers, shouldn't she?

All she can find is dandelions, the pretty weeds that pepper the field outside the Seam, and she collects as many as she can. The cemetery is empty when she returns, but she arranges the flowers over the fresh dirt, and she stays beside the grave until the sun starts to set and the sky is pink.

She doesn't sleep. The air is warm enough for her to sit on the porch as the night passes.

She looks at the barren garden she used to keep. It's picked bare, and Katniss wonders whether anyone was living at the house when the soldiers came through and took everything they wanted.

She missed years at this house, years she could've spent with Prim. She wants to ask her mother about those years, but her mother is as quiet as she, and Katniss can't. She _can't_. Madge visits with breakfast, and she tries to talk to Katniss. She asks after Peeta, making guilt flood through Katniss.

He is in Staunton, and he expects her to return to him. She should.

This isn't her home. She left it, and it was lost to her. The war took it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be at your wedding," Madge murmurs, touching her hand.

Katniss looks at her. "I wasn't at yours," she replies. The words stick in her throat.

Madge smiles. "It wasn't a large affair, and it wasn't planned."

Katniss nods, but she doesn't really want to talk, and Madge seems to know it; she leaves, and another day passes. Katniss sleeps on the porch, and her neck aches from it when she wakes up.

She visits the cemetery, and the fresh dirt is warm and dry from the sun.

She wants to tell Prim everything she didn't have time to tell her, but the words don't come. She thinks about every moment, though, about Boggs and Thresh, about Seneca Crane, about how to spell arbitrary, about notes in eggs and the girl with a face like a fox. And she thinks about Rue.

They never should've left. They should have stayed, never mind the Confederates.

She should've kept Rue with her, and they should've stayed with Prim.

The day is almost finished when Gale sits beside Katniss.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. She doesn't respond. "I did everything I could to protect her, but I couldn't — I couldn't protect her from. . . ." He clears his throat. Katniss nods, or she thinks about nodding. She waits for him to leave. She doesn't want to talk. "Where's your husband?" he asks.

Katniss cards her fingers through the dirt beside her. The air is cooler as the sun starts to sink behind the horizon. It's not yet summer, and spring warmth isn't like summer heat; it doesn't linger.

"I'm not sure whether you've heard or not," Gale says, "or whether he might've heard, but there was a fire at the bakery a few months ago, and his parents, his oldest brother, and his sister-in-law were caught in it. They died. And I'm not certain, but I think his older brother was lost to the war."

A fire. No, that's not right. That isn't what happened.

"It's my fault," Katniss murmurs. "His whole family is dead because he wanted to protect me."

Gale stares at her; she can feel his eyes. "His whole family isn't dead, though," he says.

She doesn't respond. Who else is left? Rue, maybe. She _needs_ to be left. She needs to be alive.

"There's you, isn't there?" Gale asks.

She doesn't respond, but the words strike her. There's Katniss. His wife. The woman who said she'd have children with him. He isn't alone, because there's Katniss. And she isn't alone, either.

"Or wasn't — was that real, Katniss?" The uncertainty is thick in his voice. "Madge told me — she explained how everything started with him. Or she explained as much as she understood. She doesn't know very much about your marriage, though. She says you fell in love with him, but I —"

He hesitates, and she stares at the orange skies above.

"Is it real, Katniss?" he asks.

She thinks about an old conversation.

Peeta tried to convince her that she ought to marry Gale, because —

Because it was always real for him. Since they were children and he heard her sing, it's been real for him. It doesn't truly make sense to her, but he's spent the last three years proving how real it is.

To him, that is. Real to him. And it wasn't real to her, not at first, not for years, not until —

She isn't sure. It wasn't real, until suddenly it was.

And maybe it was the entire time, and she didn't know it. But the timing doesn't matter, does it?

"I'm in love with him," she whispers. "I've lost my faith in everything else, but it's real. He's real."

Gale nods, and his eyes are soft. "I'm happy for you," he tells her.

It takes her a moment to understand his words.

"Happy for me?" she echoes. "My sister is dead." She doesn't mean to say it, but the words come out, and they take her breath with them, leaving her lungs empty, leaving her as hollow as rotted wood. "My sister is dead," she repeats, choking on the sob that catches in her throat. "She is dead."

She cries until she feels faint from it, and she stays in the cemetery through the night.

She doesn't have anything to fear from the dead; it's the living that frighten her. And the air is damp, drawing goosebumps from her skin, but Gale stays with her, and another morning comes.

She is exhausted as they walk through town. Gale catches her arm when she stumbles.

Her mother isn't at home, and Katniss crawls into her old bed, the bed she used to share with Prim. The sheets are dry and dusty, but she can't possibly care less. She falls asleep with her mind on Staunton. She told Peeta that she would return as soon as Prim recovered. But Prim didn't recover.

She wakes with the sheets wrapped around her legs, nightmares making her stomach roll.

Her hair is clinging to her neck with sweat.

The cough doesn't seize her until the morning, and she licks her lips to taste the coppery blood. She doesn't taste it, though. She isn't sick. She isn't dying. She rolls over in her sweaty, twisted sheets.

It was Prim who caught sick. It was sweet, innocent Prim who coughed to death, and Katniss is allowed to carry on with her life, as though fate or God or mere coincidence were laughing at her.

She puts her hands to her mouth to hold in her tears, and she feels the ring against her lips.

She needs to go to Staunton. She needs to see Peeta.

But what if he is dead, too? What if inflammation caught in his stitched, plastered leg, and he died?

Her nightmares are bloody that night, a thousand mouths rimmed with red haunting her, and she wakes screaming, her throat burning. She starts to sob violently, but arms wrap around her shoulders, steadying her. She struggles away from her mother, but it isn't her mother. It's Madge.

"Gale was worried," Madge murmurs. "I came over a few hours ago, and you didn't look well."

"I'm not," Katniss says.

Madge nods. "I made tea," she says. "It'll soothe your throat."

Katniss doesn't say anything, but she accepts the tea that Madge puts in her hands.

"Where's Peeta?" Madge asks.

Katniss stares at her tea. "Staunton. His leg was injured."

"Have you written to him?"

"Not yet." She hasn't had time. She's been busy looking after Prim. Or she was.

The tea scalds her tongue.

It's quiet. "I feel as old as dirt," Madge says, sighing. They don't talk as they drink the tea, but Madge sits with her as the morning passes, and she comments occasionally about the weather or the postman or a new recipe she wants to try, but she doesn't require conversation from Katniss.

She doesn't leave until dusk.

She stops in the doorway, glancing at Katniss. "I know it doesn't help," she says, "but — but gosh a'mighty, Katniss, I'm sorry." She looks as though she might say more, but she doesn't; she leaves.

She returns the next day with a book to read.

Katniss asks her what happened to Buttercup. "The cat," she adds. "Prim's cat."

"A few soldiers fried the poor thing," Madge says. "Gale told Prim that the old cat simply went looking for food, though, and was bound to come home at some point. I think she believed him."

Madge cooks up johnnycakes for Katniss. "I'm not hungry," Katniss tells her.

"I know," Madge says, "but try to eat, okay? Please. For me."

Katniss shakes her head. "I'll have something to eat later," she says.

"No, you won't," Madge replies. "Katniss, don't do this. Don't become like your mother." Her gaze doesn't waver when Katniss looks at her. "I'm not trying to be hurtful, but you're worrying me, and you're my friend. I don't want to see you lose yourself. There are still people who care about you."

She used to blame love for making her mother weak.

But Katniss couldn't help loving Prim.

"Think about Peeta," Madge adds, almost pleading.

She thinks about Peeta.

And she thinks about old, prickly Haymitch Abernathy and what Peeta said.

She picks up her fork and starts in on the cake. Madge is a wonderful cook, always was, especially to make something tasty with whatever scarce ingredients are left in town. She eats, and Madge reads her book. The next morning Gale comes over to see whether Katniss might want to hunt.

The woods are scare, he says, but they might be able to find a few squirrels.

Her old bow and arrow are familiar in her hands, but the muscles in her arms ache as she skins the thin, pathetic hare she shoots through the eye. And she doesn't have the appetite to eat the animal.

She makes jerky with it.

She'll need something to eat on the road, after all.

She means to pack her things, but she ends up on the floor, surrounded with the poetry that Prim put to paper in neat, loopy script. She reads every stupid word, and her hands tremble as she carefully collects the poems into a pile. They're what's left, these silly, stupid poems. They're Prim.

She doesn't manage to leave that day, or the next.

It's Sunday when someone knocks on the door.

She can't imagine why Gale or Madge would decide suddenly to adhere to propriety, and there isn't anyone else in town she has the slightest interest in seeing on her doorstop. She frowns, starting for the hall, but she stops when she sees him. Madge left the door propped open to let in the breeze, and Katniss can see him through the screen door, hat in his hand, leaning heavily on a cane.

She stops, staring, stunned.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Mellark," he says, smiling shyly at her.

It's three strides to the screen door, to him, and she throws her arms around his neck.

Peeta stumbles, his hat dropping silently as his cane clangs loudly against the porch steps, but he clutches her, turning his face to press his lips to her cheek, and she curls her fingers into his shirt.

She can't let go. She won't.

She slides her hand up to hold his neck, to sink her fingers into his curly hair.

"Madge wrote me," he murmurs. "I came as soon as I could manage it."

She nods, and she tightens her hold, closing her eyes. She needs another minute.

"How's your leg?" she asks.

His lip curls up against her cheek. "Hurting something awful, but I can walk on it."

"I'm glad," she whispers, nodding. She tilts her head to rest against his, and he pets her hair, smoothing the messy tangle away from her face, arms as steady around her as they always were.

"The war is over," he says. "It's finished. General Lee surrendered last week."

She isn't surprised, and she doesn't know what to feel at the news. Tired, maybe. That's it.

"And, if you can believe it," he continues, "Finnick is alive. He moans about absolutely everything, but Dr. Aurelius is convinced that a few more months abed will see the captain as fit as a fiddle."

"I can't believe it," she admits. "I was sure he was for dead."

"He said to tell you that he intends to hold us to our promise to come to Texas," Peeta says. "Not yet, of course, because we need to return to Staunton and help nurse him to good health. He sent for his wife and his son, though, and I'm not sure he'll have any interest in us after they've arrived."

It's quiet for a moment, a wonderful, blissful, perfect moment.

"How are you?" Peeta asks. "Madge said —"

She draws away from him, but his hands stay on her hips, and his gaze holds hers.

"What did Madge say?" she murmurs.

He looks guilty, as though what he is about to say is his fault. "She told me about Prim."

Katniss nods. "I tried — I — I've always done everything I could to protect her, to keep her safe, to — to look after her, but I couldn't — this wasn't something from which I could hope to protect her. I came home in town to see her — to _watch_ her die, and there was nothing I could to stop it."

He rests his forehead against hers. "She must've been happy to have you with her."

"I hope so," she whispers, taking a deep breath.

She hugs him, and she doesn't know how long she stands in his arms, but she doesn't care.

He finally pulls away to look at her, taking her hands in his. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

His smile is sad. "And I was worried about you. I _am_ worried about you; you're thin as a rail."

She doubts a time will come when he won't find reason to worry about her.

"I'm strong enough to travel," she tells him. "Rue is waiting on us, isn't she?"

"She is," he says, starting to smile. "As soon as we can, we'll head north. To Philadelphia. And as soon as we've found her, we can come home." His eyes are bright, but she shakes her head at him.

That's not right.

This town doesn't hold anything for her. This town isn't home.

It hasn't been since she left, and her heart was torn and scattered from place to place, a large piece left with Prim, another taken north with Rue, a tiny piece reluctantly handed over to Finnick Odair.

She isn't sure what's left, really, something battered and bruised, something small and scarred.

But she knows where it is, whatever's left.

"This isn't home," she says. "Home's wherever you are." It sounds like something awful that Prim would put in her poems, but he smiles, reaching out to hold her face. "Stay with me," she breathes.

"Always," he says.

He kisses her, soft and sweet, his hands sliding into her hair as she presses closer to him. She doesn't want a soft, sweet kiss, though; she wants to disappear inside him, hide away in his warmth and his kindness and his love. She wraps her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

She needs him.

She isn't like her mother, not really. The kiss ends, and she tells him.

"I feel like prickly old Mr. Abernathy," she murmurs, smiling against his lips. Broken, never the same, irrevocably scarred, but she'll carry on, she'll survive, because there's someone left with her.

There's someone left who loves her. There's Peeta, and that's enough.

He nuzzles her nose. "I can live with that," he says, as though he understands.

"Do you realize that makes you my Mrs. Abernathy?" she asks.

He smirks. "It makes perfect sense," he replies, cheeky. "After all, we share the same sweet complexion, adoration for cats, and interest in fine milk glass." He squeezes her hip, affectionate.

She stares at him.

This is the day she will finally say it.

"I love you."

And, as other days come, as days fade in to weeks and months and years, they'll survive.

**fin.**

a/n: And that's it, folks! There will be an epilogue, which means this isn't _really_ the end. I'll try to post it as soon as I can, but I'm sure you've realized that doesn't really mean much. I'll try, though! And, yes, people in the war _could _survive gut shots, and the lucky soul might've kept his leg, especially in 1865. But nobody survives TB! Katniss couldn't be lucky on every single count, right?


	12. Epilogue

The letter comes on a Friday, and her face doesn't change as she reads it.

She folds the letter, says, "my mother died," and continues to skin the rabbit. He is startled, gaping at her while the children continue to race around his legs. Fred squeals loudly when Finnick picks him up, and Annie comes out from the house to collect the rabbit meat from Katniss.

"Katniss," he murmurs, and she stares attentively at her work.

"I promised the boys that I would let them each have a rabbit foot," she says.

Nellie tugs on his trousers, looking up eagerly at Peeta. They were playing blind man's buff, but the game degenerated into something else, and he chases after the girl for a moment, twirling her around when he catches her and making her giggle madly. But across the yard, Finnick, who hasn't yet taken off his blindfold, grabs Junior around the middle, roaring loudly in triumph, and the boys run to save him, tackling Finnick. Peeta sets Nellie on the ground to let her help slay her daddy.

He climbs onto the porch to read the letter for himself.

It's from Madge, who explains everything as kindly as possible, but it's as Katniss said. Her mother is dead.

She was taken with fever, and she passed on Sunday.

Peeta looks at Katniss. "Do you want to go to Virginia?" he asks. "We can collect your mother's possessions," he says, because that's practical, and Katniss appreciates the practial. "And I'm sure Madge would love to see you," he adds. "Rue can look after things at the bakery for a little while."

Annie pokes her head out from the house, frowning, clearly curious, and Peeta hands her the letter.

"Oh, Katniss," Annie says, looking up from the neat scrawl.

Katniss shakes her head. "I haven't spoken with my mother in years, Ann."

But Annie isn't about to listen to that, Peeta can see it. He needs to talk to Rue about the bakery, because they're going to Virginia. Annie will convince Katniss. He learned long ago that Anne is persuasive where Katniss is involved; he suspects her sweetness is too much for Katniss to refuse.

They've been in Texas for seven years, and those years've been good.

Rue came to Texas with them, and she married a man who towers over everyone, too tall to walk properly through doors, having to duck every time. He works as a carpenter, and Peeta likes him.

It wasn't easy to make their way to Pennsylvania after the war, and Peeta remembers how Katniss started to doubt that they were right to leave as quickly as they did. They should've waited for a letter from Rue, Katniss said. When they reached Philadelphia, no one wanted to talk to them.

But, well, Rue was waiting for them, keeping an eye out, and she found them.

Katniss was with child at that point, and she couldn't stop crying as she clutched Rue, who started crying, too, when the baby kicked wildly between them, and Peeta was laughing through his tears.

Rue survived, and she came to Texas, and she married Albert Jackson.

And Finnick survived, too, recovering enough to work. Annie helps him, of course, because "who do you think kept this farm running while somebody was off at war?" she says, hands on her hips.

Their daughter was born three weeks after Katniss gave birth to Junior.

Peeta and Katniss hadn't intended to stay in Texas, but the bakery in town was closed down and boarded off, abandoned, and Katniss was happy, settled, able to hunt for the first time in years. Peeta bought the land, and he hired Albert to help him rebuild the bakery, and they stayed in Texas.

Frederick Mellark was born in May the next year, and Rue was married to Albert in June.

Texas didn't suffer as badly from the war as Virginia, and their life fell into an easy routine as time went on. Peeta suffered from a dull, cramped pain in his leg, but a few years ago Albert gifted him with a simple stool to keep in the bakery, which helps him keep the weight off his leg as he works.

It's nice, too, living close to Finnick.

Dorian takes after his father; he has the very same bright red hair and bright green eyes that Finnick possesses. And Nellie takes after her mother; she is blessed with thick, curly brown hair and a round, pleasant face. The little girl is Annie in miniature, and she is as sweet as her mother is, too.

But Junior and Fred don't look anything like Peeta. They're dark like their mother, and they're identical to each other. Peeta loves how much they look like Katniss with dark hair and grey eyes, but he could tell how pleased Katniss was when Jesse was born with soft blonde hair on his head.

Jesse was born in February, and he died in September.

Katniss hasn't been the same since they buried him seven months ago.

Peeta hates that he couldn't stop her from having her battered, bruised heart broken yet again, and he hates that he can't do anything to help her pick up the pieces. He knows she loves their boys, and he knows she loves him, but that's small comfort on the days when she can't leave bed.

The morning that they're supposed to leave for Virginia, Katniss doesn't want to leave bed.

Their bags are packed, they've tickets for the train, and he wrote to Madge, telling her to expect them.

The boys are supposed to stay with Finnick and Annie.

But Junior crawls onto the bed, wrapping his arms tightly around Katniss, a six-year-old looking after his mother. Fred possesses boundless energy, talking and talking whenever anyone lets him, but Junior is quiet, thoughtful, watching people with large, curious eyes as he takes everything in.

It makes Peeta wonder how Katniss was as a child.

"Let's sing," Freddy says, hopping onto the bed. "Right, Dad?" He looks at Peeta, who nods.

It's something for them to do to try to comfort Katniss, and she manages to smile for them when they do, because she is heartsick, Peeta says, but everybody knows that singing cures a sick heart.

Peeta can't carry a tune to save his life, but the boys are beloved in the church choir, singing like sweet, earnest angels, and Katniss taught them every song that her father taught her. They pick their favorite, of course, to try to cheer her up, singing that here is the place where they love her.

Katniss smiles faintly as they finish. But she doesn't leave bed that day.

On Wednesday, though, they leave the boys with Annie, and Rue sees them off at the station.

She wrapped up a plate with ham biscuits, potatoes, and rhubarb pie for them, and she hugs Katniss tightly. Katniss returns the embrace, but she avoids looking straight at Rue, because she doesn't want to look at how large Rue is. This is her first child. Peeta knows that Katniss is happy for her, but —

Rue understands, though.

She kisses Peeta on the cheek, and they board the train.

* * *

><p>It's four days to Virginia. They've barely stepped off the train before Peeta spots the boy hopping from foot to foot, waving excitedly at them. Peeta hasn't met the four-year-old yet, but Madge writes about him constantly.<p>

Madge is beside him, her hand to her face to shade her eyes, and she waves, too, grinning.

She looks healthy, pale from winter, and she wraps Katniss in a hug the moment they reach her.

Her son steps forward eagerly. Rory is dark-haired like his father, but his face is plump and pleasant, and his bright blue eyes shine as he stares up at Peeta. "I'm Rory," he announces, "and I'm four, and I like baseball." He sticks out his hand.

Peeta takes his hand. "Hello, Rory. I'm Mr. Mellark, and I'm thirty-two, and I like baseball, too." Rory nods, turning to Katniss, and Madge grins at her son, ruffling his untidy hair.

The walk from the train station is pleasant, and Peeta feels as though they're pretending they haven't come to Virginia for unpleasant reasons. Katniss seems happy to see Madge for the first time in years, and she smiles again at Rory, but Peeta isn't surprised; Katniss adores every child she meets.

Her expression tightens when they reach her home, or what used to be.

Gale is waiting for them, cooking rabbit on the stove, and he grins at Katniss, brushing his thumb affectionately against her cheek. There is a shyness between them, the kind born when closeness fades to leave behind a shadowy echo. "I've missed you, Catnip," he says, and Katniss tries to smile, nodding. Gale doesn't seem to mind the reservation in her eyes, and he turns to greet Peeta.

Madge makes small talk as they eat, and Peeta helps her clean up the dishes while Katniss talks with Gale. "I can sell the house and the land for you," Gale says, "and I'll send you the money from it. Do you have a house in Texas?" Katniss nods, but she doesn't say anything, and Peeta explains that they live in the rooms over the bakery, and they bought a little land outside town.

They haven't built a house yet, though.

"The money from selling this place will help with that," Madge says, encouraging.

Peeta nods, asking after Posy to change the subject.

He wants to tell them that Katniss isn't unhappy, that she isn't quiet like this at home, or she wasn't before Jesse died. The sadness that overtook her when she lost Prim wasn't dispelled entirely after the war ended, yet she learned to live with it. But things changed when they lost Jesse, as though the scales inside her tipped at the loss, and the sadness won out. The ghosts in Virginia don't help.

But if anyone understands that, Peeta realizes, it's Gale and Madge.

Katniss fidgets in her seat, and he wants to take her hand, but he knows her moods, and she doesn't want to hold his hand. She can't stop looking around, and he hates to think what memories every corner and every crack bring to mind. Another hour, and Rory falls asleep. Gale carries him out the door while Madge murmurs something to Katniss about the funeral, squeezing her hands.

They leave, and the house is quiet.

"Mother didn't change anything," Katniss murmurs. "It's as though I never left and Prim never —"

He nods, waiting, hoping she'll want to talk. She doesn't, of course.

They go to bed, sleeping in the small room where her mother slept. It's the room where her mother died, but she isn't about to return to her bedroom, the bedroom where Prim slept, where Prim died.

The next morning, they bury her mother next to her father. Mrs. Hawthorne says something, but Katniss keeps quiet, reaching out to grasp Peeta's hand suddenly, startling him. But he intertwines their fingers, and Mrs. Everdeen is lowered into the ground. Afterward, Katniss brushes her hand over the headstone, and she kneels to press a kiss to the stone marked for Frederick Everdeen.

Prim was put to rest further into the cemetery, and Peeta follows Katniss to the spot.

She moves to sit without a word, and Peeta lets her have a moment to herself. He wanders off, and he finds dandelions in the meadow. Katniss loves them, and he collects some to put on the grave.

When he sits beside Katniss, she doesn't acknowledge him.

She touches his arm when he puts the flowers on the grave, though.

"Have you told Prim about the boys?" he asks. But she wouldn't have. Katniss isn't the sort to talk to headstones. "I think you'd like them, Prim," he murmurs. "Junior is like Katniss. Quiet. Quick. But he's a sweetheart. I guess he takes after you. Fred is louder than life, I'll tell you. His uncle Finnick bought him a drum for his birthday, and I don't think we slept for a month. Katniss tried to hide the drum from him, but he found it, and we had to pretend that fairies hid the toy from him."

Katniss leans her head against his shoulder.

"And I guess I don't have to tell you about Jesse, because you're looking after him for us."

He intends to go on, to talk about Finnick, about Nellie, about Albert Jackson, about everything he can think to say, because he doesn't know what else to do. But Katniss surprises him when she reaches forward, taking a dandelion from the bunch he brought, and tucks the weed behind his ear. She looks sadly at him for a moment before she shifts, her forehead resting on his cheek, and hides against him. After a few minutes, he quietly resumes telling Prim about their life.

They leave when his stomach rumbles, Katniss smiling slightly at the sound.

Madge started to cook a feast at their house after the funeral, and Katniss goes to help her while Peeta talks with Vick, who confides his plans to go west with a few friends from school. "Ma is sore about the idea, but there isn't nothing for me in Virginia, and there's a whole world out there."

Rory steals his attention, though.

"Mr. Mellark, there's a flower on your ear!"

Peeta feigns shock. "Where?" He pats his left ear. "I can't find it!"

"No, Mr. Mellark, your _other_ ear," Rory says.

Peeta touches his right ear, easily avoiding the flower tucked behind it. "Wait, which ear?" he asks. He brushes his hand over his nose, pretending to search for the flower, and Rory shakes his head.

"That's your _nose_!" he exclaims.

"And it's _not_ in my nose? Wait, is it in my hair?" Peeta asks, patting his head.

"No, it's behind your _ear_, Mr. Mellark!"

Peeta touches his left ear. "I can't find it!"

"No," Rory giggles, "your _other_ ear!"

Rory is a sweetheart, and he wears himself out again that night, running around, talking at everyone who sits still for more than a minute, until at last he falls asleep under the table where his mother sits. Gale fishes him out, lugging the boy over his shoulder like a flour sack, and Madge follows behind them, making Peeta promise a fourth time to come over for breakfast the next day.

"Madge says they're going to Winchester on Thursday," Katniss tells him.

Peeta glances over at her in surprise. "To visit Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy?"

"She said they visit every few years. She asked whether we might like to accompany them." She shakes her head. "I told her that I couldn't stay away from home that long. I've been missing the boys, and we haven't yet been without them for more than a week." She starts up the stairs for bed. "I cannot help thinking every other moment what they're doing. I've never been away from them."

She turns, and he starts to unfasten her dress for her.

"I can tell you what they're doing," he tells her. "They're rattling Annie until she goes positively bonkers. Another week, and she'll be forced to turn them out before they can drag any more mud into her house, break another china plate, or eat any more apple pie filling when she isn't looking."

Katniss smiles, shrugging her dress off her shoulders.

There's a lightness in her smile, and she curls against him when they crawl into bed.

She said she didn't want to go to Winchester, but he thinks it'll do her good. This may be exactly what she needs, a little time away from home, a little change to remind her what matters, to help her find herself. "I think I would like to visit Winchester," he murmurs into the dark, expecting her to ignore the comment. But she shifts, her elbow jutting into his chest for a moment. "It would be nice to see Mrs. Abernathy," he says. "Who knows when we'll be in Virginia again? It could be years."

"What about the boys?" Katniss asks.

"Well, I don't think Annie will _really_ turn them out," Peeta says. "And I miss them, too, but I don't see when we'll have the chance to visit Winchester again. It's another fortnight, and we'll be home."

She takes a moment to respond. "I didn't think I should ever _want _to visit Winchester again."

"We did promise Mrs. Abernathy that we would," he adds, "yet seven years have passed."

Talking Katniss into something isn't an easy task, but Peeta is studied in the art.

"I'll think about it," Katniss murmurs, which means yes, because when Katniss doesn't want to do something, she doesn't suffer any qualms in saying it. He kisses her forehead, satisfied with his victory, and he smiles to himself over breakfast the next morning when Katniss tells Madge that they thought they might go to Winchester with them. "I promised we'd visit your aunt years ago."

Madge is delighted.

It doesn't take more than two days to pack up the house. They aren't keeping much. There's a few old family photographs in silver frames that desperately needed to be polished, a few old family quilts that are threaded with coal dust and eaten away by moths, a few old silver candlestick holders that Katniss holds with a small smile that betrays pride. That's it, and it's easy to pack up.

They run into Delly at church, and she laughs and cries and tells them how very upset she is that they didn't tell her that they were in town, but she wants them to meet her husband, "Thom, but, oh, you've met Thom, haven't you? That's right! But you've flustered me. How many years since you've seen him? It must've been before the war! Thom, Thom, come over, say hello!" Peeta loves how happy she is, and Thom shows off his newborn baby boy with a large, toothy grin.

When Delly tries to hand the baby boy over to Katniss, though, Katniss backs away.

"Oh, no, I'm not any good with children," she says, a blatant lie, and Peeta takes the baby himself, distracting Delly. They make excuses to leave a few minutes later, but they have an honest reason to say goodbye; they made plans to visit the headstone that Peeta put up for his family seven years ago. Their bodies weren't found, but he wanted to have something by which the world could remember them. Peeta never found out what happened to Rye. He must've died on the battlefield.

Sometimes, he thinks about how things might've happened differently.

He wonders whether there might've been some way he could've saved them.

But there isn't any point in dwelling on what happened in the past, especially not when the present suffers for it. They leave the cemetery, and he doesn't know when they'll return, but Katniss holds his hand, and she doesn't say anything as he wipes away a few tears. She sings, though, under her breath, because, on her worst days, she can't look after herself, but she never fails to look after him.

They leave for Winchester on Monday, taking the train.

"I can't believe you walked this distance," Madge says, staring out at the blurring scenery. "I haven't had time to write Aunt Maysilee that you're coming with us. It'll be a splendid surprise!"

Peeta isn't sure having Maysilee scream makes for a _splendid_ surprise, but Mrs. Abernathy starts laughing and crying a moment later, grasping Katniss tightly in an embrace.

"Oh, Lord Almighty, I've missed you, sweet girl!" she exclaims.

Mrs. Abernathy looks a little older, her blonde curls greying around her temples, but she is as cheerful as she always ways, and the Capitol is as grand as Peeta remembers. It's different than seven years ago, of course, because soldiers aren't stationed at every door, because a rowdy rumbling isn't leaking down from the upper landings, because guns aren't booming in the distance.

But, looking around the Capitol, Peeta feels as though he was tossed through time. Seeing the marble floors and the lovely foreign rugs and the glass chandelier, he feels like he's returned to Winchester, to the Capitol, to the war. as Mrs. Abernathy chatters pleasantly about renovations on the hotel, Katniss grips his arm tightly; he can feel her fingers digging into him through his coat.

A moment later, though, Katniss grins when Mrs. Abernathy yanks on Gale, pulling him down to her height to kiss his cheek, and she gathers him into her arms, exclaiming, "you darling, darling boy!"

Mr. Abernathy appears in time for the lunch that Mrs. Abernathy planned.

His hair is a bright, snowy white, and his belly strains the buttons on his shirt. He glares at the grin that Peeta gives him. "Mr. Abernathy," Katniss says, "always a pleasure. I've missed your smile."

"Mrs. Mellark," he greets. "How many years are you going to stay this time?" And he hunches his shoulder up a moment before Mrs. Abernathy swats his arm, telling him to be polite to their guests.

An extravagant affair, lunch lasts well into the afternoon, and Mrs. Abernathy peppers them with questions about their lives. "My dear Mrs. Mellark," she says, "Madge wrote a few years ago that you had a son, but you haven't said a word about the little one! Has God blessed you with others?"

"Junior," Katniss says. "Madge must've written you about our oldest — older, our older son. His brother is Frederick." She smiles shortly, focusing on her pudding plate. Peeta starts to tell a story about the boys before Mrs. Abernathy can ask anymore questions, and lunch ends soon afterward.

Katniss pulls Peeta out the door for a walk, leaving Rory to entertain Mrs. Abernathy, who hasn't stopped fawning over the boy since the moment she spied him. Madge mentioned on the train that Mrs. Abernathy adores children, but she wasn't able to have her own, suffering four miscarriages.

Peeta wasn't able to gauge what Katniss thought about that.

"It's strange to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy after these many years," Katniss murmurs.

He nods. "I don't know why we haven't kept up with them," he says, but he knows why she hasn't. The war wasn't something on which Katniss wanted to dwell, and the easiest way to forget the thing was to forget everyone related to it. "But," he says, frowning, "you write to Mrs. Ableman."

It's never something he questioned, but —

Katniss shrugs. "When I came to the Capitol, I wouldn't have thought that I would write to Mrs. Ableman in the years after the war yet neglect Mrs. Abernathy. But I suppose a good alley isn't something to toss aside. Or that's what Clove says." She smiles for the briefest moment, only to add quietly, "her daughter was born in January." She clears her throat a little. "She's their second."

Peeta stares. Katniss hadn't told him, and she usually reads bits from the letters Clove sends.

Cato Ableman is a bad egg through and through, but Peeta suspects that Katniss found a genuine friend in his wife, and Clove doesn't seem the sort to take friendship any more lightly than Katniss.

"Did you tell Mrs. Ableman about Jesse?" he asks.

Katniss shakes her head. "No." It's quiet.

Peeta picks a pink bloom from the dogwoods that lean into the street, and they buy a pastry at the bakery. Katniss tells him that the treat don't taste very good, holding the flaky bun up for him to take a bite. It's the butter, he explains; they didn't use enough. Katniss nods, looking faintly amused as she wipes the frosting off his lip. Any amusement leaves her within minutes, though. "It's as though war never came to Winchester." She stares at the house where Thresh stayed with Boggs.

"They've had years to recover," he says, and she nods.

But as they turn around to return to the Capitol, she speaks suddenly. "They haven't really," she murmurs. He starts to frown, and she carries on, bitter. "The war hasn't truly left anyone, but people see fit to pretend otherwise." She fiddles with the pink flower, and he doesn't say anything.

He can't stop thinking about her words, though, until he realizes he _needs_ to say something.

They're in their room for the night, a large, lavish room on the second landing, and she starts to wash her face. It's the right moment, a moment when she can take in his words without having to look at him, and that's what she likes. She straightens, drying her face. "No one is about to forget the war," he starts. "But that doesn't mean that good hasn't happened since the war ended."

She doesn't turn around at first, and he waits, sitting on the bed.

"I know that," she says, facing him.

He smiles sadly at her. "Do you, Kitty?"

She snorts. "Don't." But she leaves her dressing gown on the chair, crawling into bed. "I hate that name, and you know it," she says. "You're only using it to try to pull a smile from me. Don't think I don't know your little tricks, Peeta Mellark." She raises her eyebrows at him, daring an argument.

He lies back, rolling onto his side and propping himself on his elbow to look at her. "A soul doesn't exist in these great States that didn't lose someone in the war," he says softly, "but that doesn't mean that good things haven't happened us, Katniss, or that God hasn't blessed us."

It's quiet for the longest time, and when she speaks at last she speaks at a whisper.

"I don't want to be like my mother," she says, her voice thick. "I don't want to be too sad to look after my children, or — but it isn't — it isn't as easy as you say to remember the blessings, Peeta."

He reaches forward, stroking her cheek. "Do you remember when Nellie kissed Junior?"

She nods. "She announced that they would be married," she says, "and he would be Mr. Odair."

"He tried to argue with her," he adds, "saying that she'd be Mrs. Mellark, but she wouldn't listen."

Katniss smiles a little, but he can see the thoughts that creep into her mind. She shifts, tucking her hands under her cheek. "I love our sons, Peeta," she says, as though he tried to claim she didn't.

Undeterred, he carries on. "Do you remember after we helped Finnick paint the fence around his barn, and Fred asked everybody who saw the posts which he liked best, hoping everyone would pick the two that he painted? And, when a friendly fellow did, he would peacock about, preening?"

"He _was_ very proud," she says, smiling softly. It's quiet, and another story is waiting on his tongue, but he wants her to say something, to — "Do you remember when Rue came running into the bakery to tell us that Mr. Jackson wanted to marry her?" she asks, and Peeta nods. "She was breathless, and I was sure that something positively dreadful must've happened, but she smiled."

Peeta nods. "Rue survived the war, and a good man came to love her."

"I suppose those are blessings," Katniss admits, shaking her head a little at him.

His hand finds hers. "I know you've lost faith in blessings, Katniss, in people, in happiness, but blessings exist, and people are good, and happiness is to be found, I promise you, Katniss, I —"

"There's you," she says. "I've never lost faith in you."

He grins at her. "Are you saying that I'm a blessing, Katniss Mellark?"

"It seems that I am," she replies, sighing, and he laughs, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

He means to draw away, but her hand grazes over his cheek, and he hesitates, his mouth close to hers, close enough for her easily to press forward, to kiss him, and they haven't kissed, truly kissed, in months. He waits, and her breath is warm against his bottom lip, and she kisses him.

Her fingers curl over his ear, and she sighs into his mouth, ending the kiss too quickly, but she touches her forehead to his. "I can't feel the good for the bad, Peeta. I've tried, I swear that I have."

"I'll help you," he whispers. Her head falls to her pillow, but he shifts, lying against her. "There's the boys, our beautiful boys, Katniss, and there's Rue, and there's Finnick, living his life and breathing his Texas air and loving his Annie. And there's Annie, our sweet, sweet Annie Odair."

"There's Dorian, reading a different book every day," she says, "and there's Nellie, happily bossing around Junior." Peeta chuckles, nodding. Katniss bites her lip. "I adore that little girl," she adds, her voice softening with the words. "Peeta," she starts, "I —" But she looks away from him. "There's Mrs. Abernathy pinching Gale on the cheek. He looked like a grumpy little boy earlier."

Peeta smiles. "There's Mr. Abernathy, old and fat, pretending he doesn't like anything."

"Oh, I don't think he finds any reason to hide his great love for whiskey," she replies, grinning.

"There's Madge," he says, "and there's a four-year-old named Rory who likes baseball."

Katniss reaches up, running her hand through his hair. "What about baseball?" she asks. "Is that a blessing?" She is teasing him, poking fun at the game that she continues to find dreadfully boring.

"Certainly," Peeta tells her. "What about cheese buns?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at her.

She pretends to consider, shrugging. "We can pretend your cheese buns are a blessing," she says, making him shake his head at her, but her expression changes. "Baseball and cheese buns and —"

"And people who love us," he supplies. "A bakery that's ours, and land to give our children."

She nods, and her gaze is intent on his, her fingers brushing his hair.

He kisses her.

Katniss doesn't have patience for slow, chaste kisses, or for kissing at all when she knows what she wants. Her hands scrape against his skull, her mouth opening under his. He feels heady with the kiss, with her body warm against him and pliant under his touch. She raises her legs, bracketing his hips as she turns them. She rests on her knees, then, hovering above him, her hair tickling his cheek, the kiss unbroken. He pushes her shift up with his hands as her hands work to discard his pants, and the kiss ends at last when she raises her arms to let him take off her shift.

They haven't turned off the gas lamp, and the room glows warmly with yellow light.

She settles atop him; he takes a sharp breath. "Katniss," his says, because he knows why they've gone months without this, knows how frightened she is that loving him will bring a child, a child that she will hold in her arms and sing to sleep at night and love terribly, completely, _dearly_, only to lose without rhyme, without reason. He rests his hands on her hips, whispering her name again.

"There's you," she says, answering his unasked question, her eyes bright. "Peeta, there's _you_."

He nods furiously, and she kisses him.

A moment later, she rises up, and he starts to come with her, blindly following, but her hands settle on his shoulders, and he kisses her breasts, gripping her hips tightly, his teeth skating against her nipples when she starts to rock against him. And when she shifts, her nails digging sharply into his shoulders, he lies back against the pillows, looking up at his wife, and she sinks slowly onto him.

Together, they breathe out, stilling. And, suddenly, she laughs in a short, silly bark.

"What?" he asks, grasping her ass to shift her, and she takes the lead, starting to move.

"Remember the blessings, you said," she murmurs, her hands slipping from his shoulders to the pillow as she flattens herself a little, "well, I couldn't stop myself from thinking that there's _this_ —"

He laughs, but the sound is lost in his throat when she starts to circle her hips as she moves. He nods, brushing his hands up to press on her back, to bring her down to meet his mouth. "Yes, Katniss," he says, kissing her wetly before she takes a sharp breath. "Yes, Katniss, there's this."

And there's you, he thinks. Always, there's you, war or not, happy or not, there's you.

She is sleeping soundly beside him when he wakes the next morning, and he slips from bed to gather a little scrap paper from his coat. He packed his pencils, too, and he fishes them out as quietly as he can. He isn't sure that this is a good idea, but he works in the dim dawn light from the window until he sees Katniss starting to turn in the bed, and he finishes minutes before she sits up.

"What're you drawing?" she asks, rubbing her eyes.

He glances at her sleepy face, her hair tangled on the left, flattened on the right, a softness around her mouth, as though she is ready to smile, and he moves to sit on the bed, handing over the paper.

"It's to help you remember," he tells her.

He drew their family. Peeta and Katniss stand in the middle, and Rue is to her left, standing with Albert, a newborn in her arms. Gale and Madge stand on the far left with Rory, and Mr. Abernathy is behind them, looking bored as Mrs. Abernathy beams, waving. Finnick winks from where he stands to the right, his arm thrown around Annie, whose hands rest on her children. And he drew his brothers, too, with Lorie smiling faintly beside them. Junior is looking at Nellie, and Fred is trying to escape, but Katniss keeps an arm on him. The hardest people to draw, of course, are at the front. There's Prim, smiling as sweetly as always, and she holds her nephew, a little blonde bundle.

"All the good things," he says. He is about to point out the baseball that he couldn't help drawing by their feet, or the bakery outlined roughly in the background, but he doesn't, instead watching her as her eyes trace over every face, lingering, he knows, on Prim, on Jesse. "What do you think?"

She looks at him. "I like it," she whispers. "And I love you."

He cards his fingers through her unruly hair, but her gaze returns to the picture. And she smiles.

* * *

><p>It's not as though the bad days are forgotten; mornings remain when Katniss can't leave bed.<p>

The boys climb into bed with her, and they sing sweetly, and Peeta knows she won't become her mother, because life carries on, and Katniss is strong enough for it. She isn't afraid to live her life.

On some nights, when they need to remember together, they tell stories to each other, repeating kindnesses that they saw in town, or laughing about something the boys did, or reminding themselves that Rue survived, that Gale survived, that they survived, and their lives are a blessing.

Katniss takes the boys out hunting for the first time when they return to Texas.

They love the adventure, telling everyone who will sit still long enough about the rabbit that they helped Katniss catch. Fred isn't as interested in learning to hunt as he is running amok in the woods, but Junior learns how to shoot a squirrel from a tree and how to trap a rabbit in a snare, and Peeta doesn't know who is prouder when he manages to catch a skinny brown hare, Junior or his mother, beaming as she skins the animal and Junior describes every single detail to Peeta.

She can't continue to take the boys out when her belly swells, though.

Pennycress Mellark is born three days before Christmas with fuzzy yellow hair on her head.

The boys clamor up on to the bed to look at her. "Hello, baby," Junior says. "I'm Junior."

He reaches out a single finger, poking her cheek lightly, rearing back when her hand flails.

"I'm Fred," Fred says, looming over Penny. A moment later, Fred sits back on his heels, turning to Peeta. "Babies are boring," he announces, and Peeta allows him to return to his marbles game outside with Dorian. But as Fred races from the room, Annie arrives with an eager Nellie.

Nellie hops up onto the bed. "She's pretty," she announces, and she copies Katniss, stroking Penny on the head. "Can I hold her, Aunt Katniss?" she asks, hopeful. "I've been practicing with Angela."

"Pennycress isn't a dolly, Nel," Annie says softly.

But Katniss reaches out an arm, allowing Nellie to settle against her, and she helps Nellie hold Pennycress. Nellie tries to rock her. "Hush, baby," Nellie says, and Pennycress blinks up at her.

"She is beautiful," Annie says, glancing at Peeta, and she must see the elation on his face, but she chuckles softly, sitting on the bed. "Pennycress is a lovely name. A lovely name for a lovely girl."

Katniss smiles to herself at the words. They named her after Prim, or after the poems that Katniss will show Penny, the poems that her aunt Prim wrote a long time ago about the pretty white weeds.

"Her middle name is Ann," Peeta says. "Pennycress Ann Mellark." Katniss nods.

Annie touches her hand to her mouth. "Oh!" She sighs, cheeks flushed. "Thank you."

"Me and Junior are gonna have a baby when we get married," Nellie announces.

"_Junior and I_ are _going to_ have a baby," Annie corrects.

Nellie nods. "And we're _going to_ name him Jesse," she says, leaning back against Katniss as she continues to try to rock Penny in her arms, "because you gotta remember the people that you love."

Annie looks at Peeta, an apology in her eyes at the words, and Peeta looks at Katniss.

But Katniss is smiling softly at Nellie, amusement in her eyes. "I'm sure you'll be a very good mother, Nellie," she says, and Nellie nods, pleased, leaning down to kiss Pennycress on the head.

Rue comes over to help make dinner, moving about easily with her son on her hip, and Finnick arrives from town with gifts for Katniss: a little honey from Mr. Granberry, who raises bees outside town, soft cream clothe from Mrs. Anderson at the general store, a raisin pie from Miss Abby, who teaches at the school, and a pretty clothe doll that Finnick bought from Mrs. Baxter.

The kitchen is crowded that night as they eat, and the same crowd gathers on Christmas Eve.

They spent the day stringing up molasses pine cones for the birds, and Peeta bakes cinnamon buns for everyone to eat, warming the kitchen as the children manage to smear cinnamon on everything.

But before they go to bed, Fred climbs onto Katniss, claiming her lap, while Junior snuggles against her side, Nellie sitting on Annie beside him. Finnick sprawls across the ground with Dorian, and Rue shares the settee with Albert, who hums under his breathe to his chubby boy.

Peeta sits on the ground, too, holding Pennycress. She is a fussy little girl, but Junior was fussy, too, and she quiets when everyone else is quiet, staring up at Peeta with large eyes. She isn't three days old, but he adores every breath she takes, and he can't take her eyes off her as Katniss starts.

"_'Twas the night before Christmas_," she says.

Peeta looks up to see Junior mouthing the words.

The children have fallen asleep when the church bells start to chime at midnight, and Peeta rises to his knees, holding Pennycress between them as he kisses Katniss. She smiles against his cheek. "Merry Christmas, darling," she says, and he knows the war won't be forgotten, that the sadness won't fade away entirely, but Christmas is come and Pennycress is healthy and Peeta is blessed.

"Merry Christmas, Katniss."

**fin.**


End file.
